


Pas de Quatre

by hafital



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant through Ant Man, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, First Time, M/M, Multi, Pre-OT4, Slow Build, very vague spoilers for Captain America 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 23:01:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 55,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4805459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hafital/pseuds/hafital
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I guess this is it," he said, looking around at his team, these three who meant more to him than anyone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PART 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has only very vague spoilers for Civil War, basically whatever I couldn't avoid knowing, and it attempts to stay canon-compliant through Ant Man.
> 
> BIG thank you to killabeez for beta-ing! Additional huge thank you to astolat for her smart comments that greatly improved the story.

**1930 -- Brooklyn, New York**

The war started in the early afternoon on Saturday, and would last the whole day until dinner. The boundaries were a good four-block radius with Calhoun's grocery store as a center point. Two teams, led by Andy Pike on the one side and Billy James on the other, nominated by informal committee, which was really Andy calling Billy a fat-head and Billy then claiming Andy still wet his bed. Everyone agreed Andy couldn't let that stand. He was fourteen years old and did sometimes smell of urine but that was an insult that required action. Any excuse for a war. This was the third war since school ended. 

Steve thought they should extend the boundary over to Columbia Street, but no one was asking him. It would make a better canvas, and the buildings were more defensible. 

He fidgeted, standing in line, restless. Movement caught his attention and he saw a dark-haired kid run in and skid to a halt. Steve inwardly grimaced, recognizing Bucky Barnes. 

"Good of you boys to wait for me," said Bucky before pushing his way into the middle of the line right next to Steve.

"Watch it," said Steve, shuffling to make room.

"Pardon," Bucky answered with an unapologetic grin. "Hey, I know you. You're that kid who got pummeled in the Hanson back alley."

Steve felt his face heat up. "Yeah," he said. "Um, thanks for helping."

Bucky was silent for a minute. Steve glanced at him. "Nah," said Bucky. "You didn't need my help. Couldn't bear to let you have all the fun. My name's Bucky."

Steve couldn't help but grin back. "I know," he said. "My name's Steve."

"Nice to meet you, Steve." 

At that moment, a loud banging filled the air as several more boys marched over from around the corner, banging sticks against trash can lids. Steve stood up straighter. 

"Quit fidgeting," said Bucky.

"I'm not fidgeting." He wasn't. He was just trying to look down the line to see who else was there. 

"Yes you are." Bucky put a hand on Steve's head and swiveled it to face front. "Eyes forward, soldier."

Steve took a breath to relax, watching Billy and Andy step up to address the line of boys. 

"All right, ladies. You know the rules. Even teams on both sides. If you're killed, you sit the rest of the game out. Losing team has to ride the Wonder Wheel at Coney Island naked, singing The Star Spangled Banner."

There were rumblings down the line. Steve thought they should pick a different song but he held his tongue. Billy and Andy faced off. Billy was younger than Andy but bigger. Big face, big hands. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a nickel. "Call it."

"Heads," said Andy.

Billy flipped the coin, catching it and slapping it down on to the back of his hand. "Tails," he whooped, and flipped the coin at Andy's chest. "I guess I go first."

"Yeah, yeah, hurry it up already," said Andy. 

Billy smirked, swinging a baseball bat around and smacking it against his hand. He walked down the line, making a big show of inspecting everyone. Steve wanted to roll his eyes. It was no secret who Billy would pick first, and sure enough a second later he called out, "Barnes," to the surprise of no one. 

Steve couldn't even be jealous since anyone would be an idiot not to pick Bucky if they had the chance. Bucky saluted the rest of the line, then ambled his way over to stand by Billy. Andy picked his first choice -- Tommy Blye. Then Billy went next picking Ned, then Andy again picking Bertie. 

Steve knew he wouldn't be one of the first to be picked, but he thought, this time, this time he might get on a team. He wasn't sure which team he preferred. In the previous wars, neither Andy nor Billy had shown any real leadership, and the games ended with a bunch of boys turning hooligan throwing rocks at each other until the cops blew their whistle and sent everyone scattering back home.

One by one the line of boys dwindled till there was just Steve standing alone. 

"That's it," said Billy. "We got our teams. Fifteen minutes till the first battle."

"Wait," said Steve, going first to Andy and then to Billy. "Come on. Let me on your team."

"Aw kid, scram," said Andy. "Teams are even now. We can't have odd numbered teams, that's the rules. Maybe next time." 

But Steve couldn't count on next time. It had to be this time. He knew he'd never hope to match any of the other boys in speed or strength. Not only was he smaller, but he was younger than a lot of them, too. He could help though. He'd be useful. And he wanted to play. "Just this one time," said Steve, moving to block Billy's path, skipping backwards. "I'll do anything. Just let me play. You won't regret it."

"Forget it," said Billy. "Get out of here. Go play with your other little friends." 

Billy gestured to the kids who hadn't even bothered to stand in line but had watched from the side. 

"Please. I'd be--"

He pushed Steve out of the way and Steve fell backward onto the gritty street, hitting his head on the asphalt, the wind knocked out of him. 

"Hey, come on, lay off already. What's the harm?" asked Bucky, bending over to help Steve back up to standing. "He wants to play, let him play. What does it matter?"

Billy scowled at Bucky, but Steve held his breath. If there was one person that could convince Billy or Andy to let Steve play it was Bucky Barnes. Everyone liked Bucky, and no one wanted to get on his bad side or have him quit on them and swap to the other team. 

"The rules are the rules," said Billy, with a mulish lip curl. 

Bucky stood up straighter. "Either he gets to play or I—"

"No," said Steve, grasping at Bucky's arm. "It's okay, really. Thank you, but you don't have to do that."

Bucky looked straight at Steve. "I don't have to play," he said, with a shrug and a little bit of a smile. 

"You should though. I want you to. It'd be a shame if you didn't." As much as Steve wanted to play, he'd hate to be the cause of anyone else missing out.

Before Bucky could say anything more, Steve turned to walk back to the stoop where he could watch. There were a few kids there already, their eyes on Steve and he stood up straighter even though they'd seen him fail again. 

"Hey Rogers," called Billy. Steve stopped, his hands balled into fists because he knew whatever Billy was going to say wouldn't be anything good and he had to stop himself from running back and punching Billy. "If you want to play so badly, why don't you make your own sissy team?"

Billy thought this was real funny. Steve could hear Billy's snorty laugh until someone must have shoved Billy or punched him because he cried out and stopped.

"Don't mind him," said little Lily James, Billy's kid sister and one of the only girls who ever hung around to watch the wars. She took Steve's hand in hers. "I'll be on your team."

He smiled at her. "Thanks, Lily." He looked at the other kids who hadn't even bothered to stand in line. There was Lily of course, a little slow but always kind, Liam Butler who walked with crutches and braces on his legs from the polio that hadn't killed him, and Max Levi, who was a strong, good-looking kid, but no one ever picked him because he was Jewish. 

"Well," Steve said, looking at all of them. "He said we could play. Care to be on my team?"

Max waved his hand at Lily and Liam. "You're nuts. We'll get clobbered."

Steve didn't deny this. "Yeah, so what? We could play or we can sit here and watch. Which one will it be?"

He was met with silent stares. But after a moment Liam said, "I'd like to play. I got my sling shot." He pulled out his prized possession from his pocket. "And I guess I could trip some of them with my crutches?"

"That's the right idea," Steve nodded, clapping Liam on the shoulder.

"I'll play, Steve," said Lily.

Steve squeezed her hand. "I knew I could count on you." She beamed a watery smile at him. 

Max stepped down from the stairs to stand level with Steve. He seemed to be weighing his options, and Steve held back from begging Max to stay. There was no point in denying they had no team at all without Max. Then Max lifted his chin. "So, what's the plan?"

**

They regrouped in the alley, huddled in a circle as Steve took a piece of chalk from his pocket and quickly sketched out a map of the surrounding streets and city blocks, marking out the grid he'd been thinking of all afternoon. 

"Draw Father Michaels," asked Lily. 

Steve shook his head at her but quickly drew a caricature for Lily. 

She laughed. "Draw Billy!"

"Enough," he said, but he drew Billy and Andy approximately where he knew their camps to be. "We have work to do. First things first. We need eyes on the other teams. In the previous wars, they camped out here," he pointed to the two drawings of Billy and Andy. "And here. Lily, do you know where these are?"

"That's the lot next to the church," said Lily, pointing to Billy before pointing to the other drawing. "And that's the yard behind the grocer's store."

"You're going to be our spy. They won't suspect you." No one ever paid much attention to Lily, but he'd noticed her unerring knack for popping up at the right time at the right place, and she always knew the best gossip. "I want to know everything they say and do, what their plans are, who they're going to target first. Do you understand? Report to me."

Lily touched the two drawings on the map again. "Yes," she said, then with a wet kiss on Steve's cheek, she skipped around the corner of the building. 

Steve rubbed at his cheek and Max snickered at him. "Right," said Steve. "Liam, how good are you with that sling shot?"

Liam took the sling shot out of his pocket, picked up a small rock from the ground, and shot it at the building behind Steve's. Before Steve could stop him, Liam let the rock go. It shattered the glass in a third story window, leaving a baseball-sized hole in the middle. 

Max cursed, and the three of them scrambled out of view just as they heard a lot of yelling and a window opening. 

"Uh, that's great," said Steve, unable to hold back a laugh. Next to him, Max was laughing too, peeking back to look at the shot-out window. "But let's not shoot at any more windows. I need you up high, on one of the fire escapes or a rooftop with a good view. Can you do that?"

"Yeah," said Liam, "I can do that. I know just the place."

"Perfect. You'll be our guard. You'll cover Max and me, whenever someone from the other team gets close or tries to jump us. Got that? Uh, try not to seriously hurt anyone."

Liam had a startlingly feral grin for a twelve-year-old kid on crutches. "Okay, I'll try," he said, shuffling his way out to the sidewalk.

Max was giving him another calculating look. "This will never work. They don't even know we're playing."

"Well," said Steve. "I guess that's our job. Let's go make sure they know."

Steve walked in the direction of the church. It only took a moment for Max to follow him.

**

It became quickly apparent that the team to beat was Billy's team, not because Billy was a particularly inventive leader, but because he had Bucky Barnes on his side.

"We should concentrate on Andy then," said Steve, and everyone agreed. 

Steve sent Lily with a message for Liam, containing a grid point location and instructions. Max, Steve and Lily then approached Andy's base in the yard behind the grocer. Steve crouched behind a couple of boxes and watched Lily wander into the other team's midst as happy as you please, not caring when they all yelled at her to go away. Steve raised his hand, making a hand signal, hoping that Liam was watching. In the next second, Steve was rewarded with a DING as a small rock hit a trash can right next Andy's head. 

Andy shouted. A second rock whizzed past, bouncing off the brick wall behind him, hitting Tommy on his shoulder. Then another rock flew, then another. The rocks ricocheted off walls, making it difficult for anyone to figure out were they were coming from. The boys yelled, jumping up and down as the rocks hit their backsides and sprayed right at their feet. Steve had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing. He looked over at Max across the way, holding up his hand: _wait, wait._

Liam sent rock after rock, sometimes more than one at a time, until he bedeviled Andy and his team into running pell-mell in every direction. 

Steve let his hand drop: _NOW_. 

Max tackled several of the boys as they went running, quickly putting the loose canvas bags over their heads that marked them as out of the game. Lily tripped a boy as he ran, then, with a shouted "Sorry!" put a bag over his head.

As Andy passed by, Steve leaped onto his back, nearly getting flung off but he grabbed a tight hold of Andy's shirt and breathlessly managed to put a canvas bag over Andy's head. 

When he caught his breath, Steve jumped up and down with a whoop. Lily and Max also jumped up and down, everyone shouting with glee as a rock whizzed past in a victory DING. Steve turned to where Liam was hiding, but then he heard a loud clapping. Bucky Barnes was leaning casually against the wall of the grocer's, smiling with his arms crossed. 

Bucky gingerly walked around a boy lying on the ground with a canvas bag over his head. He whistled. "Thanks for getting rid of the other team for us," he said, with a cheeky grin. 

Steve stepped in front of Max and Lily. "There's plenty more where that came from, whenever you're ready."

Bucky shook his head. "You're something else, you know that?"

Max took that moment to lunge after Bucky before Steve could stop him. Bucky side-stepped away and then swerved toward Steve, but several sling shot rocks landed right at Bucky's feet, causing him to skid to a halt then stumble and fall backward when he lost his balance. 

Steve took a couple of steps forward but then stopped. Bucky laughed with a bright easy smile. He saluted the sky, then scrambled away at a fast run. Steve watched for a moment until realization fell on him like a ton of bricks. 

He grabbed Max and started running. "Quick, we have to get to Liam." 

Max, who was faster, ran ahead, but they were too late. When they got to Liam's perch on the fire escape of his apartment building, Liam was sitting there, crutches resting beside him, with a bag over his head. "Sorry," he said, sounding miserable.

Steve let out a long breath. "Not your fault. It's mine. Should have known he was tricking us."

Without Liam they needed to work more covertly, and picked off members of Billy's team one by one. Either Lily or Steve set up a distraction or a trap, separating one or two kids from the group, isolating them until Max could ambush and neatly put a canvas bag over their head. They set up a system of code to make sure they were safe from the other team, leaving chalk marks: an O equals clear, an X equals danger.

Lily proved to be the best at tricking someone away from the safety of their team. Despite the fact that most of the boys were not very tolerant or even nice to Lily, they were unwilling to fight or "kill" her, especially her brother, knowing that she had a tendency to bite hard. 

Steve, up on Liam's fire escape so he could get a lay of the land, saw Lily skip into an alley where Bucky was waiting for her. He yelled but she didn't hear him. Then, he rushed down, tripping and scraping his knee. He didn't know if Max had noticed, if he could get to Lily in time. 

On street level, Steve ran as fast as he could, his chest bursting. He watched Lily try to leave the alley and Bucky blocking her escape. "This had to happen," said Bucky just as Steve ran up, out of breath and unable to yell.

Lily sighed with her whole body, nodding several times. "I know. Sorry, Steve," she said, as Bucky put the bag over her head.

Playing her part, Lily staggered around, clutching her chest, and both Steve and Bucky were distracted as they watched her "die" dramatically all over the place, until finally she lay flat, lifted up the bag from her head and said, "Run, Steve!" then collapsed to the ground. 

Steve looked at Bucky, who was trying real hard not to laugh, clearly having the time of his life. Steve smiled back, but then turned and beat it out of there. 

Ultimately, it came down to Steve and Max against Billy and Bucky. They faced off all four together, on the street corner where they'd first picked teams at the start of the war. Neighborhood kids gathered around, those that had played and those that hadn't.

"You have to go for Bucky," said Steve to Max, standing next to him in the makeshift arena. "I'll take Billy."

Max looked sideways at him. "Are you nuts? Billy will demolish you. He won't play fair. Bucky will bag you for sure but he won't actually hurt you."

"I know, I know, but if I'm out, it'll be Billy and Bucky against you. If we're going to have a chance at winning this thing, you have to take Bucky out. I can hold out long enough against Billy until you can help."

Max broke eye contact with the enemy to face Steve. "Are you sure?"

Steve nodded, noticing that Bucky was watching him and Max with sharp, shrewd eyes. "Yes."

Max faced forward again, but he put a hand on Steve's shoulder. "Thanks, Steve. It's been a helluva day."

Without taking his eyes off of Billy and Bucky, Steve smiled a little. He noticed Bucky quirk his eyebrows, almost a question. Well, he might as well start them off, and without warning, yelled and headed straight for Billy. Max followed half a second after him, running for Bucky.

As Steve charged at Billy, he saw the shock on Bucky's face when he figured out what Steve was about to do. Bucky cried out, "No, Steve!" but in the next moment Max was on him, and they tumbled together to the ground. 

Billy, grandstanding and parading for the audience, was slow to realize that the fight had started. Steve managed to get in a couple of good punches before Billy snapped into fighting mode. He punched Steve and Steve went down, but he scrambled back up, ramming against Billy. Steve used his elbows and his knees. He kicked as hard as he could. He knew that if he got Billy mad enough he'd forget the game, wanting only to pummel Steve into dust without putting the bag over his head. The rules were very clear: you weren't dead until that bag went over your head. Steve just had to hold out long enough. 

He tried to see what was happening with Max and Bucky -- he could barely hear their fight over the noise of the onlookers yelling -- but he curled in on himself on the ground as Billy got ready to kick Steve in the side. Steve pushed to get away, then he brought up his knee, right into Billy's stomach. Billy bellowed, spitting as he grabbed Steve by his shirt and shook him back and forth. 

"You little prick, I'm going to kill you," yelled Billy. 

But Steve was smiling. "No, you're not," he said, stuttering as Billy kept shaking him hard.

He glared at Steve. "Who's going to stop me? You?"

"Yes," said Steve, pulling the canvas bag from where it was tucked into his trousers. "Because, I just killed you." 

Steve wasn't expecting the sudden drop to the ground as Billy clutched at the bag over his head. Billy grunted with rage, ripping the bag off, red-faced and sweaty. He started after Steve. Steve stepped backwards. "The rules, the rules," he said, "You're dead now."

"Fuck the rules," said Billy, but just as he was reaching for Steve, someone came flying and tackled Billy to the ground. 

Steve saw that Max was sitting off to the side with a bag on his head half on, half off, looking pretty disheveled and bruised. Then Steve looked back at Billy and realized that it was Bucky who was fighting him. Bucky had rolled Billy onto his back and was punching him silly, his shoulders taught with concentrated anger, wholly changed from the laughing boy Steve had come to know him as. Bucky swung his fists with everything he had. Steve got his arms around Bucky and dragged him off. 

"Okay, I think that's enough," he said. Bucky flailed before slipping out of Steve's grasp to fall down on all fours. 

Bucky gasped for breath, but he pushed back onto his knees, looking up at Steve with a beatific smile. "You crazy bastard. I surrender."

Steve pulled Bucky up to standing, and they stood grinning at each other. "I accept your surrender." 

It was the best day of Steve Rogers's life.

 

**Washington D.C., the day before the Insight launch**

The fight evolved. The Winter Soldier wasn't just strong: He was inventive and relentless, the line of his shoulders taught with concentrated anger, sparking a memory within Steve. From firepower, to hand-to-hand combat, to knife work, around and back again, the Soldier attacked. Steve let instinct take over, his body responding before any thoughts could form. 

They were too evenly matched. Steve grabbed the Soldier around the waist and slammed him backward into the asphalt. Steve rammed the shield into that metal arm, then used the edge to hit the Soldier in the face, distracting him long enough to flip him over. The Soldier rolled to his feet, the mask falling with dull sound to the asphalt. 

**

Natasha worked at ignoring the pain from her injured shoulder. Fury's secret hideout grew more damp and chilly as evening descended. 

Steve looked over at Natasha. "You'll be okay?" he asked.

She glanced down at the bandage, then gave a dismissive shrug, rolling her injured shoulder back. It hurt, but the doctor had injected a mild painkiller. It'd be okay in the morning. "Ready for that bikini."

He smiled. 

"The three of you should get some rest, while you can," said Hill, and they followed her down a darkened hallway to another room with a dingy-looking full-sized mattress pushed up against one wall and a short two-seat sofa on the other. "Sorry," she said, "It's not the Ritz-Carlton, but it's all we got."

Hill left them to figure it out. Natasha headed straight for the mattress, lying down on her uninjured side. She watched Steve and Sam look around the room. 

"Guess I could do with a marshmallow bed right about now," Steve said to Sam.

Sam laughed, and Natasha could hear the wry amusement in it. "Careful what you wish for, huh?"

Steve went over to the sofa, obviously planning on taking the cushions and using the floor.

"Come on, guys," said Natasha. She patted the mattress. "I promise I won't take advantage."

Steve shook his head at her but seemed honestly more than happy to share, and with a nod at Sam, took off his jacket to lie down on his side facing her. Sam took Steve's other side and they all cosied down together.

"Unless you want me to take advantage of you," she added, unable to let the opportunity pass. 

Steve sighed. "Nat."

She chuckled. "You know, Cap, it's way too easy to ruffle your feathers."

"I know," he said, with a measure of resignation. "I'm working on it."

"I kind of like it. It's sweet. Hey Sam, we have a Cap sandwich."

Sam had a warm, easy laugh. "You are a troublemaker."

"Yes she is. You're not actually making it any better," he said to her.

She laughed softly again. His blue eyes caught the light from the open door. "You know, Stark and Barton have a running bet on whether or not you're still a virgin."

He rose up on one elbow. "What?" he asked, incredulous.

"Well, you have this, I don't know, mystique about you. It makes people speculate and wonder," she said innocently.

"You'd think Stark would have better things to do."

"He's dead certain you're still a virgin. Barton thinks you must have slept your way through the USO girls when you were on tour."

He huffed, lying back down. "Neither of them would win that bet."

She raised her hand, combing lightly through his hair. 

"Before going into the ice, I only slept with four people. But, well…" then he trailed off.

"Tell me," she said, surprised he was willing to even say that much. It spoke to how much Steve trusted Sam, even after so little time. And she guessed, how much he trusted her.

"Why does it matter?" Steve asked, sounding like he really wanted to know. 

It didn't matter, not really. But tomorrow would be another desperate day, and who knew what the future would bring. "You're my friend," she said.

It seemed to be the right thing to say. He breathed silently for a half a minute. 

"I was nineteen. There was this girl, Nancy Ann. A neighborhood girl. She was always real nice. I didn't know how to talk to most women but Nancy Ann was kind and patient and never took offense at anything. She had this boyfriend, Donald, a, well, Bucky called him a 'fancy man.' Lots of nice suits, no discernible job. She had a bit of a reputation, and her father got wind of it, kicked her out of the house, and Donald didn't step up. She didn't have a place to go."

"You took her in."

Steve half nodded. "I shouldn't have. It only hurt her reputation more, but she was crying." He closed his eyes, then opened them again. "It was only going to be until she could figure out what to do next, or her father relented. I never expected anything from her, but, like I said, she was kind. I… thought maybe, she and I might--"

He broke off and fell silent, and that far-off expression returned. Natasha could read the different emotions passing over Steve's face: regret and shame. She wondered if Sam was listening.

"What happened?" she prompted. 

"The boyfriend changed his mind, and she went back to him," he said, with just a light shading of an old, faded, broken heart. 

Natasha could see the entire story painted vividly with Steve's emotions. She pictured Nancy Ann in her mind and tapped lightly on Steve's head until he looked at her. "She didn't believe she deserved you."

He rolled his eyes.

"I'm serious. I've been many women in my life. Any one I needed to be for the job. Confident or shy, brave or weak, I've been them all. I can tell you that Nancy Ann didn't believe she could trust happiness."

Steve looked curiously at her. "Well, maybe."

"So that was number one," she said, relieved he hadn't spiraled into a mood. "What about number two?"

He scratched the side of his head. "Well, Barton's not totally wrong."

Natasha pinched Steve on the arm. "Hah, I knew it."

"Ow. I didn't 'sleep my way through the USO girls.' It would have been unseemly, and besides most of those girls had boyfriends or husbands serving in the war. Things were different back then."

"Oh, please. Things weren't _that_ different. What was her name?"

He sighed, giving up. "Millie," he said with a smile. "She was thankfully unimpressed with the whole Captain America thing. And--" he paused, struggling with what he wanted to say. "This was after the serum. Everything was different. Not just my body, but my entire life. Sometimes it felt like none of it was real, that I didn't have any control over things. The attention I got was for Captain America, not for Steve Rogers. Not that I complained. Millie didn't care, one way or the other. She had her own ambitions. She stayed in New York when the tour went overseas."

"And then?"

"And then, nothing. We were at war. I left the tour behind."

"Who was number three?"

Steve's eyes darkened, his entire face shuttering closed. He struggled for a moment but then said, "Bucky."

It was Natasha's turn to go still, and she wondered if it was her imagination that all three of them collectively held their breaths for a moment. It wasn't so much that she was surprised, but she could admit she wouldn't have expected Steve to be honest about it. 

He didn't look at her as he spoke. "Several months after the Commandos were first formed. In Austria somewhere, all of us holed up in an abandoned barn."

"Steve, you don't have to say."

He shook his head, although he still wouldn't look at her. "It was only that one time. Maybe it doesn't count. We didn't…we couldn't do much."

"It counts," she said. He did look at her then, and she almost wished he hadn't, but he gave her a small smile. "You know better than the rest of us, Cap. War is hell. I got no judgment for whatever comfort someone can get in the middle of a sucky situation."

"Yeah." Then his dark-eyed, lost-in-thought expression returned. "All those years, while I was in the ice, he was alive."

"Hey," she said, tugging on his hair. "Don't do that."

He sighed, and they fell silent. She was reluctant now to ask who the last might have been. 

They lay there, breathing in the same air. "So tell me, Romanoff, what about you? Is there anyone special?"

Natasha listened to the quiet noises around them: Sam shifting position, a distant suggestion of conversation between Fury and Hill, and water dripping somewhere. This was a very wet, hollow place. Steve was watching her, waiting. "We have more in common than you'd think," she said.

Steve touched her chin, then traced the bandage over the gunshot wound on her shoulder. He leaned in and kissed her, gentle, not particularly sexual. The kiss ended, but he kissed her again. 

She smirked at him when they broke apart. "You like kissing," she said.

"I do. And you're right. I don't get to do much of it these days. Practice." 

She smiled as he kissed her one more time, staying just shy of asking for more. These were comfort kisses, and Natasha relaxed as they parted. "Who was the last one?"

He traced her face, brushed her hair away. "Peggy," he said. "The night we returned to London after Bucky… fell from the train."

That was all he said. She knew the history and recalled the photograph of Peggy Carter in the secret bunker. So, at least they had one night together. Although, that might have made it more painful. She leaned in, pressed her forehead against his. "I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be." 

After a long silence, she heard Steve say, "Hey Sam?"

"Yeah," said Sam. "I'm here." 

In the darkness, as she drifted off to sleep, Natasha saw Sam roll closer and place a hand on Steve's arm. 

**

After Natasha had already left to intercept the Councilwoman at the airport, Steve stood outside the bunker, deciding what to do about a uniform. He thought about Bucky being there for him when his mother was sick. He thought of Bucky not saying a word about Nancy Ann, not even when Steve picked a fight with her boyfriend and had gotten beaten up pretty bad. Bucky had just dusted him off, slapped him on the back, and then didn't leave his side for a month solid. He thought of that one night in Austria, and Bucky's shamed and darkened eyes.

He heard Sam walk up beside him. 

 

**Later that same day**

A distant beeping woke him a second time. Light from the window had darkened into dusk. He saw Natasha sitting in a chair at the foot of the hospital bed. Sam continued sleeping in the chair next to him. It was quiet. Someone had turned off the music. Outside, the hum of hospital noise continued unabated. Natasha was watching the activity in the hallway. He took a moment to consider this small team of his, together after everything that had happened in the past few days. A welling of gratitude pushed at the back of his throat.

"Report," he said, barely above a whisper.

She turned and smiled when she saw that he was awake, rising from the chair to sit next to him on the bed. "Hey."

"Hey yourself."

He watched her catalogue the bruises and cuts on his face. One finger traced the stitches on his cheekbone. He'd been cut badly before. He knew they wouldn't leave a mark. 

She let out a small breath. "We picked up Barnes's trail where we found you. It led us to a bank, downtown. It was apparently where Pierce was keeping him in between missions."

Steve had never known Natasha to evade much, and he watched as she forced herself to meet his eyes. "It's about what you would expect," she said. "A cryofreeze unit. Electro-shock equipment. Restraints. A small pharmacy of drugs. Other things. Aside from the equipment, there wasn't anything else useful that remained. A lot of it had been destroyed. The CIA confiscated the rest. I made sure they knew to provide a copy of the report to you."

He registered a dull pain in his gut, throbbing. He breathed in, then let it out. "Thanks. I'm guessing the trail went cold after that?"

She gave him a wry smile. "If the Winter Soldier doesn't want you to find him, he won't be found."

He didn't want to admit that she was probably right. He had to try anyway. "There has to be a file on him somewhere, with Hydra, or before. Seventy years is a long time. There has to be a start. A beginning."

"I can make some inquiries, if you want."

"I'd appreciate that." 

Her eyes picked up the green accents throughout the room. "There are a lot of rumblings on Capitol Hill already. They're talking Senate hearings. It's quite the dust up."

He sighed, although Natasha seemed more amused then concerned. "I guess we'll have to testify."

She shook her head, contemplative. "Only if you want to. I can handle it."

He had no doubt she would handle it. Politicians had nothing on Natasha Romanoff. "They won't know what hit them."

"That's the idea." She breathed in and looked around the room, dropped her eyes.

He thought he knew her pretty well, although he wondered if he only knew her as much as she allowed and not any further. "There's something else. What is it?"

She took her time looking at him and he felt like she was slowly taking him apart, bit-by-bit, examining all the different parts of him. She opened her mouth, and he could see the moment when she changed her mind about whatever she was going to say. "When do you get to leave?"

He thought briefly of pushing for an answer, but then decided to trust her. 

"Tomorrow, probably. Do me a favor?" She met his eyes with the slightest assent. He nodded at Sam still dozing in the chair. "Take him back to his place? I don't want him sleeping in that chair all night."

She rose from the bed. "Deal. Hey there," she said, a gentle hand on the side of Sam's head. 

Sam breathed in as he woke, looking around, first at Natasha, then at Steve. "Nice of you to join us," he said with a flirty smile.

"I've been here for hours. Come on. I'm taking you home." 

"Even better," said Sam, but he first looked at Steve.

Before Sam could say anything, Steve shook his head. "Go. Come back in the morning before I start climbing the walls."

Steve wanted to say a lot of things at that moment, 'thank you' being chief among them, but Sam gave him a little negative shake of his head. "Don't go there, man."

He felt a wave of unexpected emotion, swallowing it all down. Sam squeezed his hand, then stepped closer to touch his forehead to Steve's before following Natasha from the room.

 

**Six months after Project Insight -- Buffalo, New York**

The Oktoberfest celebration took over the entire Niagara Square, bleeding into the side streets and beyond. The stench of spilt beer and marijuana filled the air, as did the noise of the raucous crowd. Groups of men and women were singing, accompanied by a traveling band of horn players, everyone dressed in white and green lederhosen, sloshing mugs of beer around. Steve kept searching the crowds.  

"Man, I could use one of those beers," said Sam through their comm unit.

"We get Rollins and you can have all the beer you want," said Steve. 

They'd tracked Jack Rollins to Buffalo, New York, where they suspected he might try to cross the border into Canada. It was just their luck that it coincided with Oktoberfest. Steve was on edge with so many civilians around. 

He spotted a tall man wearing a baseball cap, the collar of his jacket flipped up. Despite the attempt at a disguise, Rollins stuck out amongst the lederhosen.

"Got him," said Steve. He started shadowing Rollins from a distance. "Dark cap, navy jacket. Northwest corner of the square."

"I’ll circle around to his other side."

"Copy that."

At that moment, Rollins turned his head and met Steve's eyes across the crowd. Then he bolted, knocking over a woman with long blonde pigtails.

Steve ran after him. "He's made me. I'm in pursuit," he said, weaving through the crowd as best he could, picking up speed once he was clear of the square. The noise from the celebration decreased to a dull roar in the side streets of downtown Buffalo. He was regretting not bringing his shield, but it would have been too conspicuous in the crowds. 

He chased Rollins, closing the distance, twisting around corners, up alleyways, sidestepping swerving cars, till Rollins turned down a narrow street and abruptly stopped with his back to Steve.

"You know you can't out run me. Get down on your knees," said Steve. "Hands up."

Rollins was breathing hard but didn't turn. Steve waited for the tell, reacting moments before Rollins spun and threw a _shuriken_. Steve heard the throwing star imbed itself into the far brick wall. 

"That wasn't very nice," said Steve. 

Rollins's unamused eyes flared with hatred. He pulled out a 9mm handgun and pointed it at Steve. "You can't dodge every bullet. You don't have your shield."

Steve shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not." 

Rollins tightened his grip, leveling the gun at Steve's head. Then his eyes shifted, confused one moment then widening in fear the next. Steve felt the hair on the back of his neck rise as he followed Rollins's line of sight. Bucky was standing behind him. 

It should have been a relief to see him after so many months of near misses and strange roundabout clues, but it was a surprise more than anything else. Steve hadn't given up, but he'd realized early on that Bucky was following them, not the other way around. He kept hoping Bucky might come in on his own. 

Before Steve could say anything, Rollins fired the 9mm and kept firing it as Bucky charged, blocking every shot with his arm. Bucky flipped over Rollins and grabbed the gun, twisting Rollins's arm back, metal hand ready to break his neck. Rollins's arms flailed. 

"Wait, wait. Bucky, don't kill him." Steve held out his hands. Bucky looked up and their eyes met. 

Steve stood straight and tried to appear non-threatening. A second later, Sam ran up behind him. Bucky's eyes shifted briefly to Sam, then back to Steve. Without turning, Steve held his arm out, asking Sam to back down. 

He couldn't read Bucky's expression. Couldn't tell if he remembered anything more of who he was, if his memories had returned. Bucky's eyes were dark, unwavering, dispassionately controlling Rollins's continued efforts to escape without ever looking away from Steve. 

"You don't have to kill him," said Steve. 

Bucky took in a big, shuddery breath, then he put Rollins in a choke hold. In less than five seconds, Rollins was unconscious. 

Steve stepped forward but immediately regretted it when Bucky dropped Rollins like a hot potato, scaling the building wall, breaking a window and disappearing from view. Steve ran after him. 

"Steve. I'll head him off," said Sam, speaking into their comm unit.

"Negative," said Steve, keeping Bucky in sight through the hallways and rooms of the building, grateful it was a Saturday and the building was empty. "Secure Rollins. Stay with him."

He could sense Sam's silent objections, but he knew he would do as asked. He chased Bucky up to the roof. They leaped from building to building, then Bucky jumped down to street level. Steve followed onto a highway, down the thoroughfare, dodging honking cars. Bucky leapt from an overpass. Steve leapt too, but when he landed on the dried grass of an embankment, Bucky was nowhere in sight. 

Steve started running in one direction, then stopped, listening, breathing. He strained his eyes, searching for clues, a sign, anything. There was the slightest of movements behind him. He spun around, slamming his assailant against the cement wall but he swallowed a curse when he saw that it was Natasha.

"Christ, Nat." He bent over panting. 

"Okay, sorry. That wasn't the smartest move," she said, rubbing the back of her head.

"Ya think?" Steve straightened, looking around. He knew it was futile. Bucky was gone. Or at least, Steve wouldn't find him. Bucky had never let him get that close before, but he was gone now and who knew when Steve would ever get that close again? He looked down at Natasha. "What are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you, too."

He frowned until she rolled her eyes. "Looking for you, of course." She paused and pursed her lips. "We need you to come in."

Steve sighed, ducking his head. "All right," he said. "Let's head back and you can fill me in."

**

By the time they returned, Sam had already contacted the local FBI office to officially transfer Rollins over to their custody. They would handle the interrogation -- it had become apparent that the STRIKE team wouldn't confess anything to Steve. Sam's connections would get them the report and video of the interrogation, and they'd go from there. Maybe Rollins would give up Rumlow. Maybe he'd accidentally reveal something useful. It was better if it was someone other than Steve who did the asking. He kept telling himself that, even if it meant no one asked the right questions. It kept the search for Bucky off the books, kept him a secret. No one could hunt a ghost. 

Steve didn't like relying on others. Hydra infiltrating SHIELD made him suspicious of everyone. He couldn't be certain the information they received hadn't been tampered with, but Sam trusted his buddy in the FBI, so Steve did too. 

Sam was giving his statement to one of the agents. Rollins was conscious, guarded by an agent on each side, handcuffed and glowering at everyone. When he saw Steve, he focused his bad attitude on him.

Steve lifted his chin at Rollins. "You have something you want to say?"

"Why'd you stop him from killing me?" asked Rollins. 

Steve considered not answering, figuring Rollins probably saw it as a character flaw, but then shrugged. "You weren't worth it."

Rollins's glower deepened. The two agents then manhandled him into the back of their sedan. 

Sam shook the agent-in-charge's hand before joining Steve and Natasha where they stood off to the side. Several of the men gave Steve an awkward salute before they got in their cars.

"Thanks for handling that," said Steve.

Sam nodded, his eyes gentle as he recognized the chase hadn't resulted in Bucky choosing to stick around. He turned his attention to Natasha instead. "Well look who's here," said Sam. "My favorite redhead."

"Hey Sam," she said, and they hugged with genuine affection. 

Steve smiled at them, overcome with fondness, and it eased the heavy disappointment he was feeling having both of them there. 

Sam said the agents had given him a recommendation for a hotel near where they'd parked their rental, and they took their time walking, letting Sam lead. 

"What led you to Rollins?" asked Natasha, brushing against Steve. 

He glanced at her. "Something Sanchez said when the FBI caught him in El Paso. Sam's friend at the Bureau's been sending us regular reports. Rollins has connections in Toronto. We believe he's been going in and out of the country regularly." 

He knew she was actually asking how he'd known Rollins would lead him to Bucky. But he hadn't known. He'd hoped, but he hadn't known. In each of the other STRIKE team manhunts he and Sam had participated in there had been signs that Bucky was following them, mostly evidenced by the babbling, incoherent fear that would suddenly render the STRIKE team easy to catch. Or those few occasions when they'd been found dead. 

She watched him with her far too perceptive gaze and he saw that she saw everything he hadn't said. 

"I keep thinking that if I could talk to him, he might decide to trust me."

"I don't think it's a matter of trust," she said. "He's not ready. He might never be ready."

Steve raised his hand to rub at his forehead. After a moment, Natasha squeezed his hand, and Sam came close to his other side as they came up on the hotel's front entrance. 

Natasha handled booking the room while Sam retrieved their overnight bags from the car, and soon they were all ensconced together. 

"So, fellas," she said to each of them. "Is the honeymoon over? You boys sick of each other yet?"

Sam chuckled. "Please, save me from this guy," he said, cuffing Steve's head in a mock annoyance, settling himself comfortably next to Steve on the sofa. 

"All right, Romanoff, what have you got for me?" asked Steve, more than ready to retreat into business, letting Sam elbow him. 

Natasha smirked and pulled out a folder from inside her jacket, handing it over to Steve. He opened it to a color photograph of Loki's scepter. He quickly read the attached report on its missing whereabouts. 

"You've got to be kidding me," he said, letting Sam read over his shoulder. The rest of the file included intelligence on several suspected Hydra bases with corresponding reports of Hydra's efforts to continue recruiting and the chaos surrounding the remnants of SHIELD. He paused on a list of all the new players that were cropping up, noticing both Maria Hill's and Natasha's signatures, and that the entire file came from Stark Industries on Avengers letterhead. Despite the graveness of the contents, seeing the Avengers logo eased his concern, even as it gave him mixed feelings. 

"We didn't realize it was missing until a few weeks ago," she said, poking through the mini-bar. She shrugged as Steve gave her a disgusted look. "Hydra was good at covering their tracks. Truth is I don't think SHIELD ever had the scepter. It was shuffled to Hydra the moment it was handed over."

Steve refrained from pointing out that, at that time, SHIELD and Hydra were more or less one and the same. "Where is it now?"

"Somewhere in Europe, we think." She perched on the arm of the chair, sipping at a bottle of water. "Those Hydra bases have to be searched and taken down. The scepter's too dangerous to be left in play. It takes precedence. The Avengers are assembling, and we need our captain."

Her words were like soft explosions all around him. He at once felt guilty for not paying more attention to the remnants of SHIELD and Hydra, and reluctance to stop his search for Bucky. But the mission wasn't complete, and he'd sworn not to rest until Hydra was erased from every corner of the world. 

Sam elbowed him again, taking the file from Steve's hands and tossing it on the coffee table. "I'll keep searching for him while you're off Avenging," he said. "You've got a job to do."

Steve shook his head, ready to argue but Sam interrupted him before he could speak.

"Don't make me beat you up."

Steve had to laugh, then ducked his head, reaching over to grip Sam's hand in gratitude. 

"I see the honeymoon _isn't_ over yet. You guys are cute together," said Natasha, amused.

Steve, who was used to Natasha's teasing, merely shot her a warning look. Sam snorted, offended. "Woman, I don't know what you're talking about. I am always cute."

She smiled. "Oh, you think."

"I know. And Steve wouldn't know what to do with a fine specimen of manhood such as myself," Sam added. 

Steve inclined his head in agreement. "I should be so lucky." 

He'd intended to continue the joke, but it came out quiet and sincere. The mood in the room dropped. 

Steve stood up from the sofa, gripping Sam's shoulder. "I meant it," he said, then found the room service menu and tossed it to Sam. "Order whatever looks good. I'm going to get some air."

In the hallway, he searched for the stairwell that lead up to the roof, ran up the stairs reaching a locked door and twisted the doorknob till it gave. Outside, the day was darkening to dusk. He walked to the edge of the roof, looking out over the lights of Buffalo. 

"Bucky," he said. He didn't know how he knew Bucky was listening. If he searched the entire roof, Steve wouldn't find any sign of him. "Hydra's still out there. There's a lot of work left to do. And you know how much I love nothing more than busting up Hydra every chance I get."

He paused, rocking back on his heels, hands in his pockets. He closed his eyes and tried to listen for any little sound that might indicate that he wasn't crazy, that he wasn't standing alone on a rooftop like the stubborn, deluded punk he knew Bucky would have called him. 

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and he turned but there was no one there. "Do me a favor? Don't follow me to New York. I know you're going to want to do that. And I'd give anything to have you with me. But I also don't want you anywhere near Hydra anymore. Keep an eye on Sam for me. Don't give him too much trouble. Do that for me, Buck?" 

The wind picked up and made his eyes water, tugging at his jacket, flapping around his pant legs. He stood there, silent, for several more minutes.

Before he returned to the suite, he found a courtesy phone and asked the hotel staff to deliver three chilled steins of beer. He'd promised Sam beer, and he didn't want to break another promise.

 

**Avengers Tower, in between missions**

Steve watched Natasha and Bruce together without letting on that he was watching. She was helping Bruce on parts of Veronica, preparing it for the launch into space. They were talking, sometimes laughing as they moved around the satellite. Steve had come in wanting to see if Natasha would go over his plans for the next mission, but when he saw them together he'd moved off to the side. 

It tugged at his heart, to see this side of her, to know this was closer to the real Natasha. She had her hair up in a ponytail, wearing a loose sweater over a black leotard and pink tights, pink ballet slippers on her feet. It made her look younger than she was already. 

Steve was about to make himself scarce when Tony entered the lab, heading straight for Bruce. 

"Hey buddy," said Tony, clapping Bruce on the shoulder. "About done here? I could use your help with that thing. You know that thing? I need your big sexy brain."

"Um, Tony?" said Steve, trying to edge in front of Tony. "Can I talk to you?"

"In a minute," said Tony, pointing to Steve. "In twelve minutes," he added. "In twelve minutes I'm all yours, Cap." He turned back to Bruce. "Stop stressing over Veronica. You need a break."

"I'm not stressing," denied Bruce.

"Yes you are. How many times have you gone over every inch of her?" Tony turned Natasha. "How many times has he fondled her matrix? Don't answer that question."

Natasha was smiling but she didn't answer, separating herself from Bruce and moving to lean against a workbench. 

"See? She agrees. Look, you can help with the Hulkbuster suit, if that'll make you feel better."

"Uh," said Bruce, with a pained apologetic look at Natasha. "Excuse me." 

She shrugged as Bruce followed a still talking Tony from the lab. Her eyes were on the floor when Steve leaned against the workbench next to her. 

"Sorry," he said. "I tried."

She gave him a chagrined "oh, well" smile. "Thanks."

"You should tell him." 

She turned incredulous eyes on him. "Steve Rogers, are you giving me relationship advice?"

He laughed. It felt good to laugh. "Hey, I figured it was my turn to give you a hard time. Okay, okay," he said, holding up a hand in defense. "I know I don't have the best track record."

"Steve, you don't have any track record."

He frowned. "Now, that's not true." 

"Did you ever call Sharon?"

"I…" he hedged. He'd seriously thought about calling her but the months searching for Bucky had put her out of his mind. Her number, written in Natasha's handwriting on a yellow post-it note, sometimes popped up amidst his paperwork, a reminder that too much time had passed. "No. I didn't," he said, then poked Natasha in her side. "I'm serious. Just tell him how you feel."

Natasha gave Steve a side-eye glare. "I don't think feelings are the right approach." Then, with a quiet sigh, she faced him proper, a hand on her hip. "I'm not trying to have any approach, actually."

Steve realized how difficult this must be for her. No artifice, no tricks, no clever one-liners, none of the tools she normally employed as easily as breathing. Just Natasha, uncertain and vulnerable. "Anything I can do?"

She smiled and took his hand. "Keep me company?"

He followed her to the dance studio. He thought he'd sit back and watch her work, but she made him stand at the barre facing her, teasing and cajoling him into learning the ballet steps. She liked bossing him around. He was predictably terrible at the surprisingly difficult and precise movements, but he liked learning the French terminology: _sur le cou-de-pied, dégagé, ronde de jambe_. 

The hour flew by until he stated that superhuman strength didn't protect him from sore ankles and he sat down against the mirrors to watch Natasha dance solo in the center of the room. 

 

**One month after Sokovia -- Jacksonville, Florida**

Sam wondered how this had become his life, crouching in a windy corner of a rooftop, searching through a pair of binoculars for some crazy dude with a metal arm. 

The adjacent building was an old Hydra outpost that he and Steve had cleared out months ago, located in the industrial area outside of Jacksonville. They'd infiltrated and captured or contained the personnel, and had called in the FBI to do the clean up. A dead end -- no Barnes, no clues that might help in their search, not even anything useful to help locate other Hydra facilities, a disappointment all around. The only thing of interest about the place was how it had tied in directly to the Jacksonville Electric Authority, sucking in huge amounts of power, untraceable, for a purpose that wasn't clear. They made sure the connection was cut and then had moved on to the next cold lead. 

By all accounts the building should be abandoned. It looked abandoned. Sam adjusted the focus on his binoculars, searching for any sign of life. No activity, the remnants of caution tape fluttering in the breeze, the doors locked up. He was halfway to convincing himself he should go home, except that the oddity of a building with no purpose sucking in that much power had left a quiet little itch in the back of his brain. 

He pulled out his phone and did a quick internet search for anything unusual, and almost immediately pulled up a news article about a Jacksonville Electric Authority employee going missing after a routine maintenance visit to the area. 

It could still be a coincidence, but he knew in his gut that something hinky was going on. It might have nothing to do with Barnes, but he still couldn't let it go. He should call for back up of some kind. He should call Steve, but Steve was still in New York dealing with the fallout from that Ultron business. From their last phone call, Sam knew Steve had his hands full. He didn't want to pull him away if it turned out to be nothing. 

Cursing and wishing he had his exo wings, Sam suspected the entire exterior of the building was under video surveillance, and he didn't see a blind spot he could exploit. 

Just then, a truck drove up, backing into the loading dock. From a side door, out popped several men wearing black clothing and black caps. They began unloading large wooden crates. 

He wasn't going to get another opportunity and made his way down to ground level, and around the block to approach the building from the opposite side, creeping in as close as he could to the men unloading the truck without being seen.

One man stood back from the others, casually smoking a cigarette. He had an automatic rifle slung across his back. Sam cupped his hands around his mouth, and loudly whispered, "Hey. Hey, you."

When the man turned, Sam waved him over. "My friend," he said, crouching low, making himself seem pathetic and homeless. "You there, can I bum a cigarette? I could really use a cigarette."

The man puffed once, then flicked his butt at Sam before swinging the rifle into his hands and aiming it at Sam's head. Sam grabbed the barrel and jabbed the man in the neck before kneeing him in the groin. He plucked the cap from the man's head as he tumbled to the ground. 

"Guess not," said Sam, relieving the man of his jacket and putting the cap on his head, swinging the rifle over his shoulder. He took a couple of minutes to tie the man up with his own belt, then, as easy as you please, slipped into the mix with the others unloading the final crate and marched into the building. Inside, Sam peeled away, melting into the shadows. 

The interior of the building looked much like it had months ago when he'd been there with Steve -- a honeycomb of different rooms with cubicle farms and offices. 

Sam tailed the men carrying the crates, but there was something off about the layout of rooms and he got turned around. He went up stairs, then down stairs, then up stairs again, losing track. He began wishing he'd brought breadcrumbs, making his way down one hallway only to hear footsteps approaching. He retreated, but heard more footsteps coming up behind him. With nowhere to hide, Sam took a deep breath, swinging the rifle forward, ready to make a stand. The marching grew closer. A flash of movement caught his eye and he looked up to the ceiling a second before an arm reached down, grabbed him by the collar, and he was hauled up into the air duct, coming face-to-face with James Buchanan Barnes.

Sam lay on his back in an awkward position, his heart beating strong and fast, taking in the sight of Barnes dressed like a hipster reject with dark jeans, frayed hoodie, and knitted skullcap snugly pulled down over his head. It was cramped in the air duct. His legs were pressed up against Barnes' knees. 

Barnes put a finger to his lips, replacing the air vent grating. Sam heard two different groups passing -- these guys weren't a chatty bunch, he'd noticed. It was eerie to hear ten or twelve men moving silently through the hallways just from the sound of clothing brushing against clothing, boots on tile and carpet. 

After several seconds of complete silence, Barnes must have deemed the coast clear because he lifted the grate and dropped down to the ground. Sam followed. They stood staring at each other. 

"Hey man," said Sam, like he'd happened to meet up with Barnes at their local Starbucks. "What are you doing here?" 

Barnes's eyes were steady, unwavering in his focused attention on Sam. "Steve said to keep an eye on you," he answered, hands on his own gun. 

Sam was as stunned that Barnes spoke as he was with what he said, wondering just how Steve had asked him this. He adjusted his rifle, and then went to move ahead of Barnes. "Right," he said. "Come on, then."

He took point, Barnes followed, and together they moved methodically through the hallways and rooms. 

"Any idea who we're dealing with here?" he asked. 

"Rival Hydra faction."

Sam stopped in an empty hallway and looked at Barnes. "Rival Hydra…? Are you kidding me? One Hydra was plenty."

"These are Zemo's people," Barnes said.

He could see that Barnes was serious, although to Sam the name Zemo sounded like a character from a Disney movie or possibly a cereal box. "Barnes, if they capture you—"

Barnes looked vaguely insulted. "You're here."

Sam didn't have a response to that. The silence in the hallway was oppressive. Barnes was unreadable in the dim light, giving nothing away. He realized that neither of them would be in this situation if Sam hadn't gotten it into his head to follow a hunch. Barnes was only there because of him, because Steve had asked Barnes to "keep an eye" on him. If something happened to either of them, it would be Sam's fault. 

He faced Barnes directly. "Do you have any idea what it would do to Steve if they got their hands on you?"

Barnes's eyes did change then -- a hint of confusion -- but the mask dropped again. Sam got the impression that Barnes was reading him like a book, that he was only waiting for Sam to make a decision: to continue or to retreat.

They heard the now familiar sound of men marching through the hallways, and they both flattened against one wall. The marching sounds intensified but then ended abruptly, leaving heavy silence in its wake. Sam could have sworn Barnes was laughing at him despite the fact that Barnes's expression hadn't change one bit. 

"All right, whatever," he said, then gave a little smile before nodding once. He readjusted his grip on the rifle, trusting Barnes to follow. They moved as one unit through the maze of hallways, going in the direction from where the marching had come from, until they came up on a dead end. Sam raised his hand to halt and Barnes stood at a loose attention. 

He stepped back, thinking they made a wrong turn somewhere in this white-washed maze of blank rooms and hallways, but then he stopped and turned back to face the dead end. "Something seem off to you?" he asked Barnes.

Barnes didn't answer, but with a quick glance at Sam, stepped closer to the wall, turning his head as if he were going to press his cheek against it. Sam mirrored him on the other side. At first, Sam didn't hear anything except his own breathing, but then there it was, just the barest, softest buzz of electricity. 

Sam pressed his palm flat against the wall. But there was no wall. His hand passed through. 

"Well damn," he said, pulling his hand back, realizing he'd found the source of the electricity drain. Holograms were pretty common, but not ones that looked so real and solid. 

Barnes looked at the wall, up and down, then stepped forward as if to walk through. 

"Oh no you don't," said Sam, blocking Barnes with his rifle. He didn't know what was on the other side -- he wasn't about to let Barnes go through first. Barnes hesitated, and Sam could have sworn he was about to argue, but then he moved to let Sam lead.

Sam took a deep breath before stepping through. The first thing he noticed was noise, like when his ears popped and suddenly there was all this sound that he hadn't even noticed was missing. The second thing he noticed was that he was standing on a metal catwalk overlooking a vast warehouse. Below were hundreds of men, moving in some sort of organized fashion through different assembly lines. 

Barnes came through the fake wall right behind him. They stood watching the activity below. 

One part of the action dealt with the crates he'd seen unloaded from the truck outside -- the tops had been removed, revealing packed firearms, automatic and semi automatic rifles, some kind of energy rifle, grenades and handguns, boxes of ammunition, boxes of explosives. Another part of the action was reserved for what seemed to be a fairly straightforward drug operation -- a powdered substance poured into little bags, the little bags gathered together in a larger box, the boxes stacked and crated. 

But the majority of the warehouse contained what Sam could only assume was some kind of lab, featuring flat operating tables, different kinds of restraining chairs and gurney type things, large vats of unknown liquids bubbling. He recognized equipment from Barnes's file -- similar at least, if not exactly the same as the cryo units. A chill went up Sam's spine. 

Beside him, Barnes focused solely on the lab. 

"Come on," said Sam. "Let's get out of here."

Barnes didn't follow but instead reached for the catwalk railing, obviously intending to drop down onto the unsuspecting men below. Sam stepped in front of him. 

"You don't do this by yourself," he said, getting in Barnes's face, forcing him to look at Sam. "We're going to call Steve, and we get some back up. I know you can probably kill everyone in this building with just your pinky finger, but--" Sam paused, waiting for Barnes to really look at him. Those blue eyes shifted to meet his. Sam smiled. "Not this time."

Once again Sam thought Barnes would argue. After a long moment, he took a half a step back, but Sam could tell how much it cost him. He felt it in Barnes's increased breathing, in the shuttered, distant look that replaced his normal cool detachment. 

Sam was figuring out how to thank him when an alarm shrieked, ripping across the air. He glanced down at the floor and saw each and every one of the men staring straight up at him and Barnes. As one, the men moved toward the metal stairs and scaffolding holding up the catwalk, climbing up like rats. 

"Oh, damn," he said. With only seconds to spare, Sam shoved Barnes back. "Sorry man," he said before kicking Barnes in the chest hard enough to propel him back through the fake door to the other side. Barnes disappeared and Sam turned to face the first of the men climbing up on to the catwalk. 

"Hey guys," he said, eyeing the next two men that jumped up onto the railing. "Sorry I'm late for work."

No one answered. The fact that he hadn't heard one of these guys speak a single word was beginning to freak him out. The first guy pounced, and Sam fought back, kicking him over the side of the catwalk, but then the other two joined and it got harder to fight. They locked his arms behind, forced him to arch his back to avoid dislocating his shoulder. He saw two men go through the fake wall but they returned seconds later empty-handed. Sam relaxed -- Barnes hadn't been caught, he was still in play. 

They dragged Sam down the metal staircase to the ground floor. As they carried him over to the lab, he began to get a bad feeling about what he'd gotten himself into. "Okay, this isn't funny anymore," he said, kicking, twisting as much as he could trying to break their hold on his arms and legs. "Can't we talk about this?"

"No, they cannot." 

Sam whipped his head around to see a man standing in the shadows, his face obscured. He had a cultured accent he couldn't quite place.

"They've all had their tongues cut out to prevent that sort of thing."

The men holding him, as well as those that surrounded on all sides, smiled grotesquely wide so he could see the stub of their tongues flexing in the dark pit of their mouths. He'd been unnerved before, but now he was truly frightened. 

"Strap him in, please," said the man in the shadows. 

Sam yelled as he twisted and fought to break free. They carried him over to the center chair, locking one restraint around his left arm. He knocked one man down but another took his place. A hand slammed hard against his forehead so he couldn't move. Sam looked up to see the headgear start to lower, but he saw a flash of bright metal up above on the catwalk. In the next instant Barnes leapt down, flipping in mid air, already shooting even as he landed on his feet. 

The men holding Sam dropped dead and he wasted no time releasing the restraint on his arm, hopping from the chair and taking a rifle from one of the dead guys. He joined Barnes, covering his right side, shooting back-to-back before they took cover behind one of the giant vats. 

"You're injured," said Barnes, crouching beside him. 

Sam looked down at the three-inch long gash on his upper left arm oozing blood. He hadn't noticed being grazed, but suddenly pain blossomed along his left side. "I'll live," he said, still rattled by what had nearly happened and trying to catch his breath. "Thanks for sticking around."

Barnes met his gaze, as unreadable as ever, but then nodded. 

"Ready?" asked Sam, resettling his grip on the rifle.

"Ready," answered Barnes with a slight tip of his head and a hint of a smile. 

They both stepped out from under cover, firing as they crossed. Sam searched for the man in the shadows but couldn't see him. Barnes took time to aim, precise and calculating, before taking a grenade from one of his pockets and lobbing it over to where the weapons and explosives were kept. Sam curled down around Barnes as an explosion lit up the warehouse, shaking the ground. 

In the flickering firelight, Sam spotted a man moving against the far wall. He aimed and fired, bullets sparking off cement. The man held up a hand, pressing a remote before he stepped back against the wall and disappeared.

A hissing started, followed by a gray-green slow-moving cloud of gas rising from vents along the floors. The shooting had stopped as men began clawing at their throats and eyes, groaning in agony, unable to scream.

"Barnes," yelled Sam, climbing on top of an operating table, getting to higher ground. A man pulled at him, trying to climb up. Sam kicked him in the chest and sent him flying.

Barnes was right beside him, punching another man before he could pull Sam down. "Quick," said Barnes, bending down with his left hand right in front of Sam.

Sam said, "Oh, Jesus," but didn't stop to question as he placed one foot into Barnes's hand, looking up to spot the catwalk. Barnes launched him into the air and Sam was flying without his wings, reaching up with both hands and grasping the metal railing of the catwalk. 

Hanging, Sam twisted to look for Barnes standing on the table, the gas beginning to rise as high as the tops of Barnes's shoes. The warehouse was now covered with a layer of gray green gas with men convulsing in a near silent sea of agony. A few men crawled to the operating table, trying to climb up, grasping at Barnes's legs. Barnes shot them in the face, a mercy at that point, while raising his left hand up. A thin cable with a grappling hook shot out, latching onto the ceiling. He swung through the air to land on the scaffolding, then nimbly climbed up to the catwalk. Sam flipped himself over, collapsing next to Barnes. 

"Dude," said Sam, stumbling as he stood. "Let's never do that again."

Barnes smiled at him -- an actual smile -- and Sam was momentarily struck by the transformation. He patted Barnes on his back and arms. 

"The roof," said Barnes, pulling him toward the end of the catwalk that linked to a spiral metal staircase leading to a door. "The gas may still come up this high."

Barnes shot out the lock, and they emerged into sunlight and wind. Sam bent over, breathing in as much air as he could. He glanced up and saw Barnes standing close to the edge, staring up at the sky, a hand shielding against the sunlight. 

Without looking at him, Barnes lowered his hand. "They should be here any second," he said.

Sam took a good look at Barnes, seeing him in full light for the first time. The wool cap had gone missing, and his hair, still long, fluttered around his face. The hoodie had a washed out Hulk drawing on the back that made Sam smile. It took a moment for Sam to realize what Barnes had said. "Who should be here?"

Barnes met his eyes, then nodded to the horizon. "I texted Agent Romanoff. They should be here any second."

"You… what?"

"When I realized it was Zemo, and that you were going in without back up, I sent them the location of the building."

After the heat and smell of the warehouse, the wind was a chilling balm, drying the sweat that had soaked Sam's shirt and jacket. The graze on his arm stung. "I had back up," he said. "I had you."

Barnes gave him a ghost of a smile, and a quick side-glance.

"Hey man," said Sam, because he knew what Barnes was going to do next. "You could stay. You know Steve wants to see you."

He got silence as an answer, and for a moment Sam thought it might happen. The Winter Soldier might come in out of the cold. But Barnes said, "Keep an eye on Steve for me."

Sam opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Barnes was already leaping off, his legs and arms circling in mid air, landing in an easy tuck and roll, and he was gone in the next instant. 

The air above began to flatten and a second later a quinjet landed delicately on the roof. The door opened and the first thing Sam saw was Captain America's shield, followed by Captain America himself, Black Widow next to him.

Steve didn't have his helmet on. Behind Natasha followed a whole mess of agents in combat gear. Realizing that the immediate danger was over, Sam shivered.

"Keeping busy, I see," said Steve, with a hint of concern as his eyes landed on the graze on his arm, halting a couple of feet away from Sam. 

"What, did you get bored?" added Natasha.

Sam chuckled self-consciously. He turned to Natasha. "Careful going in there. Some kind of neurotoxin was released, in gaseous form." He gave a quick rundown of stats, including the holographic walls, tongueless hostiles, and warehouse laboratory. "The leader got away," he said. "I think he escaped from the north side."

Natasha gave orders over comms, then turned to Steve and said, "I've got this," before waving over agents to coordinate the clean up, leaving Sam alone with Steve.

Steve took a step forward and Sam sighed into a strong one-armed hug, protecting his injury. 

"I'm sorry, Steve. He was here. Barnes was here. But he wouldn't stay." 

The rest of it choked in Sam's throat, and he took a deep breath as he stepped back.

"It's okay," said Steve with just a little bit of sadness, taking Sam's hand in his. "Let's get that arm looked at and you can tell me the whole story."

They entered the quinjet and Sam sat down near the medical bay, struggling out of his jacket, wincing slightly at the pull against the wound, getting a good look at it for the first time. It was still oozing blood, but he'd had worse. 

Steve rifled through the medical supplies. "I've come to accept that Bucky won't come in until he's ready. There's not much I can do about it without making it worse, except wait, and keep doing what I've, we've, already been doing." 

Sam watched Steve, who shrugged as he sat opposite him, setting down the supplies on the ledge. Steve took Sam's arm and turned it to look at the wound.

"This'll probably need stitches," he said. 

"Yeah, I know," answered Sam. "Hey," he said, "About Barnes," Steve met his eyes but then looked away, and Sam suddenly didn't know what to say.

"Start at the beginning," said Steve, carefully lifting the sleeve of Sam's T-shirt out of the way. He began cleaning the blood.

Sam started from the moment he'd got it in his head to give Jacksonville a second look, all the way through to when Barnes jumped off the roof and disappeared. He made sure to make a point of this being a rival Hydra faction and that Bucky had mentioned someone called Zemo. Steve listened, the occasional scowl crossing his face, as he treated the wound. The disinfectant stung and Sam winced until Steve put one of the special bandages on, the kind that numbed the pain and minimized scaring.

"The name Zemo's come up in intel. I'll have Hill start looking into it further," said Steve. "That feel better?"

"Yeah, thanks." Sam stretched his arm. "Barnes saved my life," he said. "Things could have gone downhill fast if he hadn't shown up." He tried to catch Steve's eyes. "He said you asked him to keep an eye on me."

Steve's eyes widened a little before he furrowed his brow and shook his head. "In Buffalo, when I went out to get air. I just… I had no proof he was listening, just a hunch. I did that sometimes. Talk to him, hoping," he added, like a confession. 

Sam watched the shamed yet brave way Steve rubbed at his forehead. "I know," said Sam. "I followed you once. So you had two of us fools listening."

That made Steve smile, but then he got serious. "I asked him to keep an eye on you for him as much as for you. I didn't want him following me and I didn't like leaving you on your own." He shrugged. 

Sam sorted through his mixed up feelings, at once uncomfortable with Steve asking Barnes to babysit him but also warmed and confused that the opposite was true as well, that by asking Barnes to keep an eye on him, it meant Steve trusted Sam to keep an eye on Barnes. And now Barnes asked him to do the same for Steve. This shit was complicated, he thought, reaching across to take Steve's hand in his, threading their fingers together. 

At that moment, Natasha showed up, smirking at the both of them as she leaned against the wall of the quinjet. "All clear. It's a mess in there. There's a truck coming to remove the tech, and a team analyzing the gas samples. Simpson and Rodriguez are canvassing the area and will report if they find anything. Nothing left for us to do. We'll be ready to roll in ten minutes. Did you ask him yet?"

Sam looked from Natasha back to Steve. "Ask me what?"

Steve got that slightly chagrinned look Sam knew all to well. "You know how you said Avenging wasn't your world?"

"I believe I said Avenging was more your world," Sam corrected. "And your world is crazy. Which it is." It took Sam a moment to realize what they were getting at. "You're not serious?"

Steve lifted one eyebrow, then asked without asking, and Sam could see he was concerned that Sam would say no. "What do you say?" 

All the different reasons for and against paraded quickly through Sam's mind, but he couldn't get past the unsure, hesitant blue of Steve's eyes, unwilling to push. And Barnes had asked him to keep an eye on Steve, after all. "Hell, yeah, man. Let's do this."

END PART 1


	2. PART 2

**At the new Avengers facility -- Upstate New York**

Steve spotted Sam in the midst of the busy main floor, laughing and talking with a few of the female techs. He struggled whether to approach or not, changing his mind in the last moment. Then Sam called out, "Hey, Captain," and he stopped, waved back, and waited as Sam jogged up to meet him.

"Sorry," said Steve. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Nah," answered Sam. "See, the trick is, you get in good with the techs, right. 'Cause they're the ones you're depending on making sure your pack is working properly when you're fifty feet up in the air."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Steve, amused. Since Sam was often carting Steve around fifty feet up in the air, he couldn't fault the logic.

"Were you looking for me?" asked Sam, and there was an added reserve in his manner that hadn't been there a moment go.

"Uh, yeah," said Steve. "I wanted to make sure we were still on for a run tomorrow morning?"

Sam gave him a slight questioning look, studying him. 

"If you want," added Steve, quickly. "If you want. I mean, if you're free?"

They had run a few times together since relocating to the new Avengers facility, but nothing definite. 

Sam hadn't answered and Steve began to get self-conscious. They stood in a busy walkway, getting jostled by people coming and going. 

He shook his head. "You're busy. It's okay, forget it."

"It means that much to you? This running thing?" Sam took him by the arm and pulled him over to the side, out of the way of the foot traffic.

Steve ducked his head. Running with Sam was one of the few times they could be more like they were before Sam joined the Avengers, just the two of them. In everything else, there was a changed dynamic between them, and whenever Steve saw how Sam, intentionally or otherwise, treated him more like a commanding officer than a friend, Steve felt a quiet flare of panic he didn't know what to do with. "Only if you want to."

Sam crossed his arms, a hint of his usual warm smile. "I guess I'm some kind of sucker, because, yeah man, I want to. You don't even have to ask."

Steve felt his ears go warm. "Thanks, Sam."

"On one condition," said Sam.

"What?" 

Sam made a big play of it, putting his hands together, index fingers at his lips. "You be a man and don't cry when I beat your ass."

Sam immediately swerved away, laughing, as Steve called out, "Keep dreaming."

**

It became a regular thing, Steve joining Natasha for ballet. At first he was hesitant, concerned that he was crowding into her time alone, but if she was in her studio and he hadn't joined, she'd text him and ask where he was. 

Steve didn't expect to become good at it, but he liked the music, and he liked spending time with Natasha. As the two leaders of the Avengers, it was nice to have a space where they could just be friends. 

He learned the difference between a pirouette _en dedans_ versus a pirouette _en dehors_ , he learned how to link steps together like words in a sentence to make a phrase. Sometimes he felt ridiculous hopping around, trying to get a _changement_ or an _entrechat_ perfect, but he saw how it brought a further versatility to his fighting technique, with increased flexibility, increased speed.

Natasha began showing him how to partner, how to help her balance in turns and _arabesques_ , how to lift, and how to support. It wasn't that much different from what they already did as part of their jobs when engaged in combat, except that it was also completely different. He began to know her body almost as well as his own.

One day she asked, "Do you think we could do this?" and showed him a video, flicking the file up onto a virtual screen, blown up big for him to see.

It was an old U.S.S.R. video, from a time period Steve had come to recognize as the 1950s. Two men speaking Russian introduced several female dancers, but a few seconds later Steve saw what Natasha was getting at as men came on stage and there followed a series of complicated ballet lifts. He lifted an eyebrow at Natasha.

"It might be useful, if we break it down, incorporate similar moves into our regular fight stuff," she said, freezing the video, rewinding it to the most elaborate of the lifts, then letting it play forward.

Steve studied the couples more closely, already visualizing how he and Natasha could expand on the lifts, adjust them to what they would need in the field. 

"All right, Romanoff, lead the way," he said, moving over to the barre to begin their warm up. With a smile, Natasha took her place opposite him.

**

It was Natasha who invited Sam to join them. At first, Steve was unsure about this, although he would never say anything. Sam picked up on his discomfort anyway, and said, "What, you don't want your chocolate mixing with your peanut butter?" which made Natasha actually sit down and laugh. 

Steve knew by the heat in his ears that he must be bright red. "Don't be ridiculous."

But he was at first a little thrown by it, battling a strange mixture of selfishness and jealousy. He didn't want to share his time with Natasha, but neither did he want to share Sam, which made no sense since it just meant he had both of them together. However, his mixed up feelings went away as they began warming up and the easy camaraderie between all three took over.

Sam, of course, proved to be far more natural at ballet than Steve, but then he revealed that his mother had made him take ballet lessons with his sister when they were kids.

"No fair," said Steve.

"Dude, I was six. You're still faster than I am."

"Boys, it's not a competition," said Natasha, and then pinched each of their butts before making them partner each other because, as she said, it amused her to see them make funny faces and sometimes tumble during difficult lifts. 

Steve insisted they kept their workouts in mind with what was needed in the field, and Sam made a request for other types of dance besides ballet, so they sat down with popcorn and watched dance videos on You Tube.

"How 'bout this?" asked Natasha, choosing a video featuring couples taking turns on a dance floor. She looked at Steve. "Lindy hop."

The clothes were different. The music not exactly the same. But the memories came flooding back, as did an echo of the dream Wanda had given him. "That's the style of dancing from my time," said Steve, thinking of Bucky, thinking of Peggy. "I didn't realize it was still around."

"Fast, energetic, lots of spins and flips. Seems about right," she said. 

Steve shook his head. "I was never any good at it. Bucky was the dancer."

She shrugged. "So what. And maybe that's changed."

"Come on, man," said Sam. "Let's try this lindy hip hop. You know Barnes would want you to."

Natasha pushed Sam with a laugh. "Its just lindy hop."

"Whatchoo say?" Sam put a hand to his ear. "You said lindy hip hop? I didn't quite hear you."

She was laughing. "All right, all right, whatever. Cap?"

He smiled fondly at both of them, missing Bucky with a painful jab. "I'm all yours."

So that was what they did, with Sam saying they should compete on "So You Think You Can Dance!" 

Steve couldn't tell if he was joking or not until Sam said, "We could be called 'Avengers! Dance-ssemble!" complete with jazz hands. 

Both Steve and Natasha groaned, but then Natasha kept randomly calling out "Avengers! Dance-ssemble!" to the collective amusement of no one but herself. 

 

**Early summer -- Boston, Massachusetts**

Steve walked into a tense standoff between Natasha and Wanda, Sam and Rhodes off to the side uncertain whether to step in or not. The Vision hovered beside them, looking more fascinated than concerned. 

"I'm trying," said Wanda, through gritted teeth, panting, bending over. 

"You're not trying hard enough," said Natasha. "Again." She positioned herself to fight.

"There's no point to this."

"You can't always rely on magic. One day it might not be there. Again," she repeated, and charged at Wanda, who warily attempted to fight back. 

They went through a series of coordinated fight moves with Natasha calling out critiques as they traveled around the room. "Chin up," she said, after a glancing blow against Wanda's chest. "Don't fall in. Cover your left side."

Wanda failed to block the blow and a second later Natasha clocked Wanda hard between her shoulder blades. Wanda winced. Natasha did a leg sweep and Wanda landed on her back, arching in pain. 

Natasha looked like she wasn't finished, preparing to haul Wanda to standing, but Steve decided that was enough and grabbed her from behind. "Okay, I think it's time for a break."

With a vicious grunt of anger, Natasha dug her heel hard into his foot, elbowed him the gut, then flipped around to straddle his back, falling backwards hard and taking him with her, twisting in mid air so that he took the full brunt of the impact to the ground. 

"Stay out of it, Rogers," she said as they both stood up, but her eyes switched between Steve and Wanda, and she turned to leave the room. 

Steve saw that Sam and Rhodes were attending to Wanda. The Vision looked to where Natasha had disappeared. "What the hell was that about?" asked Rhodes.

"She blames me," said Wanda, catching her breath. "For Banner. She blames me."

Steve met Sam's eyes, a quick look passing between them. "Nah," said Sam. "She just got bad news this morning."

Hill had reported that they'd finally found the quinjet Banner had taken, not near Fiji, but in pieces near the coast of Argentina.

"I'll go speak with her," said Steve, approaching Wanda to assess if she were truly hurt himself. "But she's not wrong. You can't rely solely on your powers." He stood. "Sam, Vision, continue her training."

He left them, ignoring Rhodes's, "And what about me?" comment, knowing on instinct that Natasha had retreated to her private studio. He found her at the barre, changed into dance clothes, aggressively practicing _grand battements_ , her leg snapping up to head height again and again. To the front, to the side, to the back.

"I don't want to hear it," she said, not looking at him, concentrating on her arms and her legs.

"I just think you should talk about it." He approached her but she elegantly turned to face the opposite direction, working the other leg.

"That's the last thing I want to do."

He sighed, caught her right leg as it swung down, forcing her to face him. She looked ready to kick him in the face so he quickly dropped it. He held his hands up as she took a breath and seemed to acknowledge that she couldn't avoid him. "What do you want to do instead?" he asked.

"I want to work."

"All right," he said, with a nod. "Let's work."

He had spare clothes he kept there, and changed into dance tights and shoes, brushing aside memories from a lifetime ago -- the USO, Peggy, rain, _Bucky_.

For the next hour he concentrated solely on getting Natasha out of her head, starting with some limbering barre work then moving on to the pieces of choreography they'd been concentrating on, a mixture of ballet lifts and fight techniques. 

Steve didn't bother trying to perfect his movements but acted more as a coach, pushing her to lift higher, kick stronger, spin faster, until finally, she tired enough to lie flat on her back, panting. He collapsed next to her. They were both slick with sweat.

He moved onto his side, rising on one elbow. She smiled and he felt smug with success in his mission, brushing her hair away from her face before leaning in for a kiss.

He meant it to be a simple thing, a comfort between friends, but she gripped him close and the next thing he knew pleasure surged through his body and he opened his mouth to hers. She made a noise, rising up to move with him, and he held her close before pulling back. 

"Nat, I'm sorr--I didn't mean."

She clamped a hand over his mouth. They were half lying down, half sitting, her eyes vividly green, her lips wet and parted. Slowly she lowered her hand. 

Their foreheads touched, then he shook his head, but she kissed his cheek, kissed him at the corner of his lips. He held both her hands in his, wanting to speak, but then a klaxon alarm went off, lights flashing. They both looked up. 

It was the Avengers alarm -- mission alert, a call to scramble. Wordlessly, they jumped up and ran from the studio, through the hallways to the quinjet loading dock and staging area to meet the others. 

"Well," he said to her as they both changed into their combat gear aboard the jet. "You wanted to work."

She tossed his helmet at him. "I did say that, didn't I?" Then she turned, and without a word, helped Wanda into her gear.

Steve slipped into his Captain America headspace, checking over his team. "Avengers assemble," he ordered, locking his shield in place.

"Already assembled, sir," said the Vision, with a slight head tilt.

"A little late, huh," said Sam with a smirk. Rhodes had opted to fly along side the jet.

"I know," said Steve. "I just like saying it."

"Whatever floats your boat, dude.” Sam patted him on the shoulder.

They were briefed en route. Several Extremis heat signatures were picked up at a building in downtown Boston moments before Hill received a report of an explosion and an escalating hostage situation. None of the increasingly numerous Hydra splinter groups, rival or otherwise, had come forward to claim responsibility. 

"At least seven heat signatures, probably more," said Hill over comms. "Steve, it's the Kagome building."

Steve's spine tightened and he looked over at Sam who was shaking his head. 

"What does that mean?" asked Wanda.

"The Kagome building used to be one of the locations where Hydra housed several market manipulation-type companies. You know, profiting off of insider trading, that sort of thing. Sam and I cleared it of Hydra personnel months ago," said Steve. 

Wanda didn't look like she understood the subtleties of stock market manipulation for the purpose of evil doing, but it was an explanation that would have to wait for another time. "Natasha," said Steve, nodding to the display.

Natasha stepped forward and called up the schematics and satellite imagery for the Kagome building as well as the surrounding structures, going over the tactical information they had on hand: exits and sight lines, vulnerabilities and potential traps. The Kagome building had a large open atrium open to all floors, and the hostages were being kept there.

She tapped the screen, expanding the view to indicate where the Extremis heat signatures were currently located. "Unfortunately, past experience with these guys indicates only lethal force will subdue them, unless by some chance they want to surrender: a fatal hit to the heart or brain. They regenerate everywhere else, emitting intense heat. Cap, you might want to take care of that shield. Same goes for your suit, Rhodey, and you, Vision. Heck, all of you boys."

"Yeah, thanks, I'm well aware," said Rhodey over comms.

Steve acknowledged her warning. "We still have a job to do. Rhodes has prior experience with Extremis, he'll take point. Wanda and Vision, you're in charge of getting the hostages to safety. Nat and I will handle the frontal approach with Sam as aerial backup. We'll probably have to deal with local law enforcement and civilian crowds, so be careful." 

He received confirmations to his orders, and everyone fell into making preparations. Steve pulled Natasha to the side. "Listen, I don't like that this is the second site Sam and I cleared out that's come back on the wrong side. Can you see what you can find?"

She met his gaze, then inclined her head. "I'm on it."

The fight was hot and dirty, taking place mostly in the large atrium. He contacted Hill to make sure the FBI were on hand to question the hostages, suspecting several plants. Steve kept an eye on Natasha, concerned that their earlier work out had tired her but she showed no signs of fatigue. She ran at him and he lifted her up as she shot out a hostile's legs before they could attack Sam. He flipped her around again and she landed on her feet. "Go," he said to her. "We've got this."

She nodded, and slipped away into the haze. 

In the thick of the fight, Steve battled one of the Extremis hostiles, his shield getting hot against his arm. He cried out as the hostile punched him in the gut, keeping his fist there to burn through his uniform. Sam dropped down, wings folding in, kicking the man away but they were immediately attacked by two more. 

"Got any ideas?" asked Steve.

"Suck it in, Captain." Sam grabbed Steve, wings expanding, lifting up, but before he could rise more than a couple of feet someone grabbed his left wing and yanked them both down.

Steve quickly brought the shield over both of them as Sam folded the wings back in. The hostiles pressed closer and Steve felt sweat soak his uniform. He gritted his teeth, ready to bear the pain of blistered skin when the two hostiles' heads snapped back and they dropped dead at his feet. He searched for the shooter but he couldn't see anything through the haze. 

"Come on, Sam, up," he said, still looking for the unseen sniper as he spoke into his comm unit. "Wanda, your ten o'clock, on my mark. Ready, Sam, go!"

Sam lifted them both into the air just as Wanda sent a blast of power. It took another twenty minutes before the hostages were safe and the hostiles eliminated. 

"Well, that sucked," Sam said. Both their uniforms were ruined and Sam and Rhodes's suits had taken some damage, but Steve was mostly relieved neither had gotten hurt. Rhodes's thrusters were offline after one Extremis fighter sacrificed himself by launching at him. Wanda had the only serious injury, a burn mark across her face and arm, and the Vision accompanied her back to the quinjet for treatment. She had done well, but Steve made a note to increase her training. 

"We're going to have to come up with some better defense against these guys," he said, letting himself look at Sam all over, making sure he had no burn marks.

"Yeah. Where's the redhead?"

Steve called Natasha over comms. "Nat, what's your twenty?"

From the above floors, he heard the sound of a door busting open. Steve saw Natasha engaged in a close combat with a man, his skin glowing in the telltale signs of Extremis. 

"Sam," said Steve. Without a word, Sam grabbed Steve by the arm, launching into the air but even as they flew up Steve saw Natasha stagger back, a look of stark alarm on her face as the man she was fighting raised his arms up, yelling in a savage cry before his entire body glowed red hot. In the next instant, he burst in a blinding hot explosion, the force of it knocking Sam and Steve down to crash on the ground. 

Steve was calling out for Natasha as he stood up, a wild, painful dread pulsing through his chest until he spotted her falling, twisting around to shoot a grappling cable from her wrist, aiming for the ceiling. She swung through the atrium, letting go as she came closer the ground, somersaulting to land perfectly on her feet only a short distance from him. 

Beside him Sam, let out whistle. Steve had to work hard to bottle everything that he was feeling back inside as he saw that she was only slightly singed. 

"You do like to keep me guessing, Romanoff," he said, forcing himself not to reach for her. 

She gave him a lopsided smile, before raising her arm against the still falling debris raining down from the upper floors. "Let's get out of here," she said. 

"Agreed. Avengers, clear out," he added over comms. The Boston Fire Department was already on site, rolling in hoses and aiming for the several remaining hotspots. 

It became apparent that someone would have to remain on site to help coordinate with the local police and FBI -- The Avengers place within the framework of both national and international law enforcement was still a work-in-progress and Hill couldn't be everywhere at once. 

"I'll stay behind," he said to the others. He was the obvious choice. "Have Hill arrange transport back tomorrow, or I can drive."

He shook Sam's hand and checked in with the rest of the team. But Natasha stood several feet away from the jet, her back to them. She seemed lost in contemplative thought, staring at the burning building and the crowds gathered with their smartphones snapping pictures. 

"You guys go on ahead. She and I will stay here," he said, not in a place where he could order Natasha to do anything she didn't want to do. 

Sam nodded, eyes full of understanding as the ramp to the jet closed and they lifted up into the air. 

Several hours later he found Natasha sitting on a nearby bench, arms wrapped around her legs, as she waited for him to finish speaking with the police chief. Night had come while he'd been busy and he wondered what time it was. "Report," he said, quietly, as he sat down beside her.

She glanced at him. "I copied Maria on everything I got from their servers. Couldn't go through much before things went boom, but I did see a possible reference to Zemo."

He sighed. "Thanks. But, that wasn't actually what I meant."

She dipped her head but took his hand in hers. 

They were silent as they walked to the hotel, ignoring the looks they received as the concierge gave them their room keys -- a suite, two bedrooms. They were silent all the way up the elevator and down the hallway until he put the key card in the slot, stepping back to let her enter first. 

He spun her around, lifting her up against the wall, devouring her with hungry wet lips, his helmet and shield clattering to the floor. She pulled him close, hands in his hair. He kept kissing her until he pressed his forehead against hers, panting into the heat between them. 

"Natasha," he said, voice ragged, putting all of his questions into her name. As much as he wanted this, he wouldn't continue without making sure they both were fully aware of the line they were about to cross. She was far too important to him, not only as a team member but also as a friend, for him to risk that. If this were only a reaction to stress and heartbreak -- he wouldn't continue. It wouldn't be fair to either of them. But he couldn't say all that, he could only hope she understood as he repeated her name again. 

Her mouth was open, her breath damp against his cheek. She carded her fingers through his hair, pressed close enough that he could feel her chest expand and contract. 

She nodded, all the pain and sorrow and joy filling her eyes as she said, "Yes." And he was kissing her again before she finished the word. 

They worked to get their uniforms off. After months of helping each other in and out of their uniforms, they made short work of it until they were both in their underwear, moving through the suite to one of the bedrooms, falling onto the bed. 

Steve covered her, unfastening her bra and flung it away, tonguing one nipple before moving to the other one. She arched into his mouth, her hands scraping down the skin of his back to reach under his briefs. 

He kissed down her chest to her stomach, kissed the bullet wound scar on her belly before hooking into her underwear and pulling it off her legs. 

With his weight on one arm, he explored how wet she was, his tongue doing the same to her mouth. She shuddered, her fingers skimming up his arm to his shoulder. 

She was wet but not enough and if he were honest he wanted to taste her. He went between her legs, already intimately familiar with her scent from countless hours working beside her, in her studio, in combat. 

He was gentle at first, little licks and kisses, but she gripped his hair and he pushed his face in, concentrating on getting her wet, until she came with a soft cry. 

Lying beside her, he admired the way her nipples hardened and her breasts moved with her breath. He leaned across to kiss one nipple, playing with the other one between two fingers. 

She pushed him onto his back. "Somehow I knew you were a breast man." With a smile, she straddled him but kept his hands on her breasts. 

"I like all parts of a woman's body," he said, mouthing her right nipple. "Of your body."

"Sweet talker." She cupped his face, bending to take his mouth as she slipped a hand between their bodies, lifting up to rub the tip of his cock along her wet folds. 

He held back from thrusting and she panted wetly into his mouth. Instinct told him it was more uncomfortable for her than pleasurable, so he held her in place, his fingers stroking until she sank all the way down. 

Her breath was ragged. He played with her as she rocked against him until she came again, wetness flooding down, trembling with each jolt. 

He waited, doing everything in his power not to move too much inside her. She felt amazing, squeezing around his cock, and he was so close. She lifted her head, eyes glazed before they sharpened. She held his hands in hers as she lifted off his penis, moving back and before he knew anything she had her mouth around his cock.

"Oh God," he said, surging up. She moved with him, his cock bumping against the back of her throat. He came in waves. 

She swallowed, then licked all of her juices off before climbing up to lie next to him.

He was still hard, his penis heavy and throbbing as he turned to his side. She was beautiful in the soft lamplight that spilled in from the door. The room was mostly in shadows, the light of the stars outside falling over their naked bodies. He brushed her messy hair off her face, then kissed her nose, over her eye, then the other eye. He moved to cover her body again, kissing her from forehead to chin, to her neck, whispering over and over again, "Natasha."

It was a question and he pulled back a little to make sure she was okay as he took hold of his erection and pushed it back inside her. He watched her eyes, he watched how she took in a breath. She was still tight, but it went in easier. He bent down a little to take a nipple into his mouth, sucking on it as he played with her clit again, thrusting up into her. She gripped his hair as she cried out, coming again, legs shaking, trembling. "Jesus, come on, Rogers."

He pushed in hard, rising up to his arms, hoisting her legs over her head, thrusting fast. His mind went white with pleasure, almost blind with it. "One more, I know you can," he panted gibberish into the heat of her mouth, against her neck. 

She was shaking her head even as he pressed slightly against her abdomen, angling up and she cursed, coming violently, holding on to him. He came a second later, shuddering in uneven thrusts as she squeezed around his cock. 

He collapsed on top of her for a second before sliding off, their legs still tangled together. He placed a soft kiss on her shoulder. Her breath returned to a steady in and out. He let her go so she could disappear into the bathroom. She was only gone for half a minute and he watched her walk back across the darkened room.

They shifted to pull the covers free and she slid in beside him, her head on his shoulder, a delicate hand resting against his chest. He breathed in the scent of her hair, fingers threaded together, thumbs caressing. He thought they might sleep, as tired as they were but he could feel her steady heart beating against his side and knew sleep wasn't coming for either of them yet. The energy in the room had changed, shifting down to a slow and quiet waiting.

Natasha sat up to look at him, covering her breasts with the bed sheet. Her eyes were wide and dark. 

"Steve," she said. "We're friends, aren't we? You and I. We're friends who can survive as friends, no matter what?"

His chest tightened, but he caressed her cheek, then her bare arm until he could take both of her hands in his, and for some reason he knew she meant more than just surviving having sex with each other. She meant all of it, the unknown on the horizon, their ever-evolving world, the crazy life they led. "Absolutely."

This couldn't be what he knew would be referred to as "friends-with-benefits." He loved her too much for this to be a casual thing. He needed her too much.

"I don't think I could do this without you, Natasha," he said, trusting her to understand he meant lead the Avengers and everything that entailed. Since coming out of the ice, she'd been his most steadfast companion. He had Sam now, but she had been there first. 

She gave him a smile, a sly twist to her lips. "I'm pretty sure you'd manage. You're not alone, Steve."

"You're not alone, either," he added, lifting her chin as she lowered her eyes. 

He thought of Banner, feeling no small measure of guilt, and it was on the tip of his tongue to say that Banner was an idiot, but the truth was he was probably the bravest out of all of them, and Steve could never blame him for struggling with his demons. He'd be a hypocrite if he did. He knew perfectly well how difficult it was to wake up every morning and choose to be good, choose to bottle the rage down deep. And he missed Bruce, too. 

"Come here," he said, pulling her into a full body hug. He held her tight, kissed her forehead, brushing her hair aside. "Okay, Romanoff, this is a one time offer. You can ask me any manner of inappropriately personal questions you want and I promise I'll answer all of them truthfully."

She laughed against his chest, but then shook her head. "No. You ask me a question."

He pulled back to get a good look at her. "Seriously?"

She nodded. 

All of the many mysteries about Natasha Romanoff ran quickly through his mind, tripping around and around. But there was only one thing he was truly curious about, the question that came back to him every time he was with her in her studio. "Do you wish you could have danced professionally? You could have been a famous ballerina."

She quirked her eyebrows at him, but then her focus softened as she considered his question. She shook her head. "Russians take their ballet even more seriously than they do their espionage. It’s why they use ballet as basic training on most of their operatives. If I had been better suited for ballet, they would have realized that early on. I'm not that good, Steve, not in comparison."

He shoved her slightly. "I think you're amazing." He did. He loved watching her dance. "And don't say I don't know any better. I've done enough research on my own. You're fantastic."

She seemed both embarrassed and delighted, but then shook her head. "I'm not the ideal, body-wise. Too short and, um, curvy."

"I like your curves."

She pinched his arm in affection, but then got serious again. "Maybe, if I had been born elsewhere, but there's no point in wishing that sort of thing." She fell silent for a moment but then spoke again. "I do wonder sometimes what it was that let them to choose me for the Red Room."

Steve let the use of the innocuous "them" slide by without comment. "What do you mean?"

"In Russia, during most of the twentieth century, they had these trained operatives whose main purpose was to assess the potential of children. They go around to playgrounds, schools, orphanages, travel all over the country just to watch kids and figure out if they could be useful to Mother Russia. They watched us play, physically examined us, tested us. This one is good for gymnastics, this one is good for wrestling, this one is good for ballet, and this one is good for the Red Room. This one here, she will be good at killing. She will excel at manipulation."

"How could they possibly know?" he asked, chilled by the thought of all those young lives given up without a choice.

She shrugged. "They had it down to a science."

He thought back to what she said, and he remembered Zola's algorithm that basically would have done the same thing in the reverse. He pulled her closer. "I can tell you what they saw."

"What?" she asked, muffled against his shoulder. 

"Someone who would be stronger than all the rest." 

She pressed her face even further against his chest, and they lay together until they fell asleep. 

In the quiet just before dawn, he woke in the same position he'd fallen asleep in, Natasha cradled in his arms. Carefully, he slipped out of bed, showered, dressed in the clothes Hill had delivered the night before, and went up to the roof of the hotel. He walked across to sit down on the ledge, legs dangling, looking out onto a pre-dawn Boston. 

"Hey, Buck," he said. "I don't know if you're here. I don't know if that was you yesterday, saving our butts again. If it was, thanks. You've got great timing."

He fell silent. There was too much to say and no way to say it. "I want you know, if you are here, somewhere, I'm closing my eyes and I won't open them until I leave. So, you can come out of hiding. I won't see you, not unless you want me to."

Steve closed his eyes, sensing the rising sun, the shifting breeze. His hands and feet grew cold. 

"I won't force you to come in, if that's worrying you," he said, not imaging that anyone could hear him, his voice falling to just above a whisper, the wind carrying his words away. "Not until you're ready."

He sat there for several minutes until he felt a light pressure on his left shoulder, and it took all of his strength of will not to open his eyes and turn. He reached with his right hand, but the pressure was gone and when he opened his eyes there was no one there. 

Next to him, on the ledge, was a blue envelope. 

Steve sat there for a few more minutes holding the envelope before heading back down to the hotel room.

Natasha was coming out of the bathroom fully dressed when she saw him. "Hey," she said, with a cautious but genuine smile.

"Hey yourself," he said, flipping the envelope around his hand.

She cocked her head, went to sit next to him, and took the envelope. He told her what happened. 

It was a glossy 3 x 6 card, a solid dark blue stock, no writing, nothing on either side. Natasha reached into a pocket and pulled out a penlight, clicking it till it emitted a florescent beam, passing it over the card. The black light revealed a Chicago address written in the center.

"Well, he does like to tease, doesn't he?" said Natasha.

Steve grunted, then kissed her on the cheek.

Once they were back at headquarters, he handed the envelope and the glossy card over to Hill to find out what she could. 

The next day everything went back to normal, except that Steve had a skin-prickling awareness of Natasha when they were in the same room. He caught Sam observing both of them with dark, knowing eyes. 

Later, during Natasha's usual workout in her studio, Steve wasn't certain he should join in the same manner he had before. He didn't want things to be different between them but he felt that they must be, that he should give her space. But then he got a text on his phone: _Keep me company? :)_

He relaxed, knowing with that text they were okay. He texted back: _Be right there._

 

**Weeks later, Avengers Headquarters**

At 6 AM, it was pleasantly cool, wet and dewy and still blessedly free of the humidity that would settle in as early as eight in the morning. The sky had lightened to a pinky yellow creeping up the horizon.

Steve stood by the doors leading to the outside, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he waited, suppressing a yawn.

"Did you need more beauty sleep?" asked Sam, appearing silently at his side.

"Uh, who's waiting for who, here?" answered Steve, with mock outrage. "Clearly, you're the one that needs the rest. We can go slow today, if you're tired."

They left the Avengers building, heading for the perimeter. It was an approximately 10 kilometers run all the way around. Most mornings, Steve ran it twice. Sam just ran it the once, although sometimes he got a bee in his bonnet and doggedly ran it a second time, much to his later regret. 

"Man," said Sam, flashing Steve a "whatever" face. "Anyone ever tell you the story of the tortoise and the hare? You better watch it."

"Big words," said Steve, giving Sam a flip salute before pulling out ahead.

  "Yeah, you better run away," called out Sam behind him. 

Steve grinned, although, as the distance between Sam and him increased, he immediately wanted to drop his speed and keep pace with Sam instead. He battled that urge most mornings they ran but he never gave into it, some part of him afraid it would seem odd or maybe even insulting to Sam if he did. So he always ran ahead, occasionally sharing quips as they passed each other. 

Steve let his mind wander as he ran, thinking over his team and their work. There was more of a buffer between him and this new Avengers team, and he hadn't expected that. Before, with Stark and Thor and even the irreverent Barton, it had been a lot more like herding cats than anything else, effective in the field but less structured in their down times. With this new team, they all looked up to him and mostly did what he said without arguing. It was a little unnerving. He thanked God for Natasha every day. She never treated him any different. Part of his restlessness came from having to wait before they made their move on the club in Chicago. 

Coming around the loop again, he spotted Sam ahead, catching the moment Sam stuck his leg out in an attempt to trip him. "Gotta do better than that," he said, laughing at Sam's grumbling. 

Then he caught sight of the sunrise, infused with streaks of purple and pink coming over the far rise, and stopped to stare at it. Sam came up beside him.

"It's beautiful," said Steve, turning back to the sunrise.

"Yeah, it is."

They stood watching until Steve started walking back around the perimeter with Sam next to him. He breathed in deeply at the cool morning dewy fresh cut grass smell. 

"Do you know why I run?" he asked Sam.

"You mean besides the pleasure of my company? Because clearly you need the exercise."

Steve accepted the teasing with a smile. "Your company for sure," he said. "But there's another reason."

"Oh?"

"For most of my life, I couldn't run half a block without getting winded. Not many ran purely for exercise back then, so it didn't come up as much as you might think, and I got by on what I could do even with asthma. I made do. It was all right. But then I met Doctor Erskine and joined the army and everything changed. After the serum I ran for the first time, really ran, hard and fast, and it was amazing."

He didn't need the exercise. He ran mostly for that kid from Brooklyn, to kind of make up for it. 

"Well, man," Sam said, clapping Steve on the shoulder. "That's a real nice story." And then, without warning, he knocked Steve down and ran ahead. "You better get to it!" he yelled back.

"Why, you," said Steve, chasing after Sam. 

"Don't, don't," Sam laughed, and swerving away from Steve trying to kick him in the behind. "Go on, man, run already." 

And Steve did, running faster than he had before so he could get back around to Sam just that much sooner. 

**

Later that day, Hill called them to the briefing room. The main screen showed pictures of a nondescript four-story building, covered from every angle, no sign in the front, no open windows. Another screen had intel on several individuals, none of whom looked familiar to Steve. 

Once all the Avengers were seated, Steve turned to Hill. "What have we got?"

"The address on the card Barnes left belongs to this building in downtown Chicago, the location of an exclusive club called Club Blue, although you won't see that name anywhere. If you Google the address, only a splash page comes up. The only way to know of Club Blue's existence is to receive one of these special invitations." She waved the blue card for everyone to see. "It's a very clever marketing ploy."

"What kind of club is it?"

"Two guesses," said Hill, with a hint of a smile.

Steve was going to say some kind of gentlemen's club when Rhodes spoke. "It's a sex club. What? Need I remind you who my best friend is? Tony got one of these invites once, only for a different club but it was the same gimmick. He didn't go. Said it wasn't his scene." 

Steve sighed. Of course it was a sex club. That was just how this sort of thing would unfold. "Who owns the club?" he asked.

"Well," said Hill. "Once I started digging I found a merry-go-round of shell companies and dummy corporations but was able to get one name -- Colman Richards. He's not the owner, but he's the closest I could get."

She called up the target's profile on the big screen as well as everyone's personal screens. "This is what the internet says about Colman Richards," continued Hill. "He resides in Chicago, works for BZE Securities as an arbitrageur. BZE Securities' clients included AIM before it was dissolved, as well as Club Blue. He's also rich, gay, and likes to party." Hill sounded bored. "Which is probably our best way in."

Natasha snorted and then high-fived Hill, both ignoring Steve's mild glare in their direction. 

"The internet says he's 'rich, gay, and likes to party?'" asked Steve.

"There are several Club Blue message boards," said Hill, her tone dry. "They're very detailed. There is one problem, though."

"Only one?" asked Sam.

She changed the screen to a bunch of photographs, some from what could only be Club Blue, others looked like professional head shots, the type that would go on a corporate website. "None of these are Colman Richards. BZE Securities has an address, but there are no offices. He pops up in the press here and there, but never in person, always referred to by someone else in commentary. In the message boards, people claim they hung out with him but the descriptions vary wildly. No one knows what he looks like. He doesn't exist."

The Vision stood up from the table and walked over to the large screens, staring at them with an intensity that everyone had gotten used to by then. 

Steve creased his forehead. "How can that be? Someone must have interacted with him at some point."

"You'd think so," said Hill. "And there's definitely someone or several someones operating as Colman Richards. But it's a really elaborate fiction. 

"Unfortunately, there is a further complication," said the Vision, raising his hand up, palm open and the screen began to flicker as more intel flooded in, spilling onto two more screens. 

Steve had come to ignore the slight unease he felt whenever the Vision displayed how easily he could delve into secure systems, making connections and seeing patterns that would normally take them weeks to figure out. He wasn't omniscient, nor had he ever shown signs of the maniacal instability of Ultron, but instead held a sort of patient curiosity that usually worked in their favor. Steve trusted him as much as he trusted everyone on his team, but it was a gray area of morality that caused a cramp in Steve's shoulders with how easily it could be exploited by anyone with less than honorable intentions. 

The Vision lowered his hand, and Steve quickly paged through the intel that had come to his personal screen. 

"Club Blue is under investigation by a joint effort between the DEA and the FBI, for both drug and human trafficking. Colman Richards is at the heart of their investigation. Any move we make could seriously jeopardize their operation. They have agents in deep cover," said the Vision. Then he looked at everyone around the room. "There's more."

Despite the seriousness of what they were discussing, Steve had to smile a little at the Vision's attempt at building drama. "Please. Don't hold back."

The Vision pulled up a sound recording of a telephone conversation between two unidentified men, one man expressing concern because he'd seen the news about an explosion and he didn't want the same thing happening to him and the other man saying, "Relax. The formula's been modified."

"I know that second voice," said Sam. "That's the same dude from Jacksonville. Any more info on him?"

The Vision turned back to the screens. "No. He is elusive."

"So, what are you saying, we do nothing?" asked Wanda, who had been silent up until that moment. She was sitting next to Natasha. They'd walked in together, and Steve was grateful to see that Natasha was back working one-on-one with Wanda. 

"Of course not," said the Vision.

"Then, what?" she asked.

"Good old-fashioned spy job." said Natasha, returning the screen to the intel on Club Blue. Steve knew what was coming before Natasha flung it on the big screen. He studied different pictures of pretty boys draped all over each other. "Like Maria said, that's our way in. Steve," she added, pointedly.

Steve rolled his eyes at Natasha's smug smile. "Believe it or not, Romanoff, this wouldn't be my first time undercover at a… gay night club." He was more then a little amused to see his team, including the Vision, staring at him with open mouths. "1944. We had a line on a German national who'd been Schmidt's personal portrait artist and tracked him to a secret club in Vienna known for smuggling -- well lots of things -- but they were known for getting homosexuals out of Nazi-occupied territories. Two of us posed as patrons, got him out but he killed himself before we got anything useful out of him. After that, we ended up escorting several refugees over the border into Switzerland." 

He shrugged at their continued silence.

Sam shifted in his seat. "Was it you and Barnes?" he asked, his tone soft. 

Steve lowered his gaze, feeling heat behind his eyes, and shook his head. "No. We needed Bucky on the outside, covering the exits. It was Falsworth, actually. He had, um, experience with those sorts of places. I was just the arm candy." 

He knew Falsworth's sexuality was a mere footnote in the history books now, but it still felt odd speaking about it openly. Falsworth himself had never done much to hide the fact, it being more or less an open secret with the Commandos. Dugan sometimes called him a pansy, but Dugan called all of them a pansy at one time or another so no one ever took much notice. 

To get them back on task, Steve returned to his screen. "We're already getting too much of the wrong kind of attention. We mess this up for the task force, it will not look good in the press, and we're still taking heat from the Ultron business."

"Yes, but," said Natasha. "We go in for just one night. And we reach out to the task force if we have to. There's a reason Barnes left us that card."

She was right of course. Bucky wouldn't have left the invite if it weren't important. 

**

Hill reached out officially to the FBI and discovered that two of the undercover officers had gone missing. The task force had received a video feed showing the men strapped down to a table, unconscious, with a note around their necks demanding the investigation be terminated. With their operation in disarray, at that point the task force welcomed the Avengers stepping in. 

"The officers last reported in two days ago, and they received the video this morning," said Hill.

Steve stood next to Sam as they reviewed the new intel. Sam stepped forward, cocking his head. "See anything interesting?" asked Steve.

"Yeah," said Sam, pointing to one part of the report detailing an admission by one of the missing officers. "They said the back rooms of the club were like a maze, they couldn't tell if they were up or down. Has anyone checked the electric grid? How much juice is the building sucking in?"

It was Jacksonville all over again. Only this time it was not an abandoned building and they were going to have to deal with a significant number of civilians. It was decided to stick with the original plan for fear that a frontal assault would jeopardize the lives of the missing agents.

"I'll get to those private rooms, and find the agents," said Steve. "The rest of you work on infiltration."

"Hold up," said Sam. "Steve, man, you can't lie to save your life. You stick out like the American flag. I'll go in--"

Steve shook his head. "No, it's too risky."

"Come on, how hard can it be?" asked Sam. They both ignored Natasha's snicker. "No, I'm serious. I'll be fine. If anything happens, you'll be on comms, come and rescue me, big man." 

Steve felt his cheeks get warm, but then insisted. "Create a second profile," he said to Natasha, and then to Sam. "You're not going in alone. It's either me or Rhodes going in with you. Or we'll call in Barton, if you prefer. But you're not going in that place alone. And I can too lie, to save someone else's life. I'll just keep my mouth shut, you can disguise my face," he added to Natasha.

Natasha looked between them, pulling out her phone, scrolling. "I can do one better. Club Blue has regular costume nights."

Sam stared at her. "How do you even know that?"

She shrugged. "Took me ten minutes texting some friends, I got the low down. I'm not sending either of you in blind. We will know every inch of that club before you two go in there. Oh!" she said, suddenly excited and grabbing Steve. "I just had the best idea for a costume!"

When Steve got a look at the costume Natasha designed for him he flat out refused, but then she said, "This way you can still bring your shield," and he ended up agreeing to wear the little shorts she called hot pants. 

He tried on the boots and the modified gauntlets carrying the shield, and the costume helmet to cover his face. He even let her practice painting a star on his bare chest. Sam took one look at Steve in his bare-chested Captain America costume complete with blue hot pants and spit out the water he just happened to be drinking, laughing hard enough that he started to turn purple from lack of oxygen. 

The rest of the team also had a good laugh at Steve's expense, except for the Vision who merely looked like he was tempted to change his appearance to match Steve's. 

**

In the gym, and back in normal work out clothes, Steve spotted Sam through a series of circuit training exercises, conversation limited to Steve's coaching and Sam's amicable complaints. 

"Natasha said I should speak with you," said Steve. "About what to expect, in Chicago." He pressed down on Sam's feet and legs while Sam counted sit-ups.

Sam eyed him each time he sat up, counting to twenty. When he finished, he wiped his face with a towel before they both moved over to the bench press. "Let me guess," said Sam, lying back on the bench. "She wants us to have the sex talk."

Steve almost dropped a weight on his foot, caught it, then slid it onto the bar. Sam was grinning at him upside down, holding his hands up, ready to take the weight. The FBI had sent over everything they had on Club Blue's private rooms. Steve had thought he and Sam might have to kiss a little, maybe even a lot, and the rest they could fake their way through, but the information they received on what went on in the back rooms was explicit and revealing. 

"Having second thoughts?" asked Sam, voice strained with exertion as he pushed the bar up, controlling it back down.  

"No, not really," said Steve, taking the bar back when Sam finished his reps, allowing him to rest before adding more weight for a second set. "You?"

Sam made a "give it me" motion with his hands. Steve carefully handed the bar over, counted out ten repetitions, then took the bar back again. Sam sat up, stretching out his arms, and his back, taking the towel again and scrubbing his face with it. "If I said yes, what would you do?"

"Change the op," said Steve. "No question. Get someone else in, or find a different approach."

"You'd go in by yourself. You know it," said Sam.

Steve looked away. He couldn't deny it. 

Sam grinned, and shook his head. "It's a date, then, you and me. You're gonna get some chocolate lovin'," he added with a flirty laugh. "It's a job, right? We'll figure it out."

"Hey," said Steve, lightly taking hold of Sam's arm before Sam could head over to the free weights area. "This is going to be your call. Anything that goes on in there, I'm following your lead. You tell me what we can and cannot do. I wouldn't have it any other way."

Sam studied him, then nodded, but before Steve could walk way Sam pressed him against the weight rack. Steve had only a half-second warning before Sam kissed him, a simple press of lips. Steve held still, not breathing, until Sam asked for more with a lick and a quick taste of his tongue. 

Steve inhaled as Sam stepped back. "Uh," he said. "Sam?"

Sam was clutching a fistful of Steve's shirt, which he let go and smoothed out. "Practice," said Sam with a wicked grin, and Steve felt a warm glow in his belly. "Practice makes perfect, right?"

"Right," said Steve, his eyes dropping to Sam's wet lips. "Right," he repeated as Sam led him over to the free weights. 

 

**Club Blue -- Chicago, Illinois**

It was one of those things that seemed like a good idea at the time.

The team traveled by quinjet to a safe house in Chicago across town from the club. Most of the day was taken up meeting with the task force and reviewing the intel they had already gathered. 

"You guys be careful," said the lead agent. He looked tired and harried and uncomfortable as he gave over the reins of his investigation.

"We'll find your people," said Steve. The agent merely nodded. 

As evening approached, they changed into their costumes. Steve smiled at Natasha's Lady Thor costume, dangling her hammer like a clutch purse. 

"Don't you need an invite?" asked Sam to Natasha.

"The main part of the club is just a regular night club. The blue card gets you into the private back rooms where all the fun stuff happens," said Natasha. "Okay, by someone's definition of fun, anyway. Just for you boys," she added when they all stared at her. She then stepped back and reviewed Sam's costume, declaring him fit for duty. He was dressed like Hawkeye, all in black with red accents. They'd be checking for weapons so he couldn't carry a real bow and arrow. 

Two hours later, Steve and Sam were exiting a limousine into a colorful crowd of costumed club goers. The rest of the team had gone ahead. 

"We really going to do this?" asked Sam.

"Looks like it," answered Steve as they approached the head of the line. Sam showed the blue card to the several tall, black-suited bouncer types at the top of the line. The first bouncer shined a bright light in their faces, then another unclipped a velvet rope and let them in.

"What was that for?" asked Sam.

"I don't know," answered Steve, attempting to ignore the roiling uncertainty in his belly.

"Relax," said Natasha over comms, already inside the club. "Don't worry. Just do as I say."

Sam said, "Right, no problem. How did I get here again? I distinctly remember saying I was a soldier not a spy."

"You agreed," said Nat.

"I did, didn't I," said Sam. Steve placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, reminding him he was right there. "I got no one to blame but myself."

Inside, Steve felt the loud pounding music vibrate through his body, the multi-colored roving lights swinging around to shine on a sea of human beings. It was 10 PM and the place was crowded. 

"Don't head straight for the back rooms," said Natasha, and Steve was relieved he could hear her pretty well over the noise. "Go to the bar, get a drink, mingle." 

As they made their slow way through the dance floor to the bar at the back of the club, Sam reached for Steve's hand, pulled him close. They were pushed and shoved, Steve enduring more than one inadvertent grope before they made it to their destination. 

He let Sam order, turning to face the crowds, not certain where to look, men and women dancing, gyrating, flailing in abandon. Steve was amused to see that he was not the only Captain America there. Several Captain Americas were scattered around, most showing even more skin and muscles than he was, which was ridiculous because he felt very naked. 

Sam handed him a cold beer. They knocked their bottles together. Steve took a long drink but was distracted by the sight of two men pressed up against a pillar in the middle of the dance floor, their hips moving in a manner that simulated sex. Jeez.

"Have Steve's eyes popped out of his head yet?" asked Natasha. 

"Just about," answered Sam with a laugh, but his own eyebrows had risen up to his hairline. 

"All right, so it's not quite like that place from back in the war. This is a lot more… unclothed." The club in Vienna had gotten a little risqué, men kissing and sitting in each other's laps, lots of petting, but nothing quite like this. He realized Sam was laughing at him. "I don't see what's so funny," he said, but with a smile. 

"You're kidding, right?" said Sam. "This whole thing is hilarious. Not exactly a story I can tell my grandkids," he added with a wave of his beer at the frenzied dance floor. "But I'm in a gay night club with Captain America. It doesn't get more surreal than this."

Steve shook his head, but he was relieved Sam seemed okay. He finally spotted Natasha and Wanda, dressed as a witch, up on one of the balconies surrounded by a number of men. Wanda looked as overwhelmed as he felt. "Wanda, status?"

"These people, their thoughts are like their dancing: loud, strong, always moving. It's intoxicating."  

"Uh, right," said Steve, thinking he saw a hint of red in her eyes even from all the way across the club. "Vision, where are we in breaking into their network?"

The Vision's smooth voice crackled across the comms. "I've gained access to their security cameras, sending the feed to Black Widow's phone. Their network is taking more time. There are significant security deterrents on their system, and I must go slowly or else they'll become aware of my presence."

"Go easy," said Steve. "They can't know we're here. Rhodes? Where--"

"Steve," interrupted Natasha. "Stop. You and Sam couldn't be looking more out of place if you tried. Everything about you both screams 'undercover agents.' Do something. Leave the team and the mission to me. I've got this."

Steve let out a gust of air, and turned to Sam who was smiling in sympathy. Sam drank the rest of his beer, left the bottle on the bar, and then held his hand out for Steve. 

If they were going to do this, they may as well get to it. He let Sam pull him into the dance floor.

This dancing was nothing like the dancing he was comfortable with. He looked around at the other club patrons, trying to copy their movements.

"It doesn't matter what you look like," said Sam, taking hold of Steve's head and making him face forward. "You don't have to be good at this."

Sam, hesitating only slightly, put his hands on Steve's hips, warm fingers against his skin. They stepped in close, swaying with the thumping music. It should have been more awkward with the shield on Steve's arm, his helmet, and the fake quiver of arrows slung across Sam's back. Sam felt good against him, smelled good too, and Steve let himself forget for a moment where they were and why, his hands sliding up Sam's back, turning so his lips were right at Sam's ear. 

Distantly, he was aware of the other dancers on the floor, their bodies brushing up against him or Sam, the constant movement around him, a part of his brain tuned to the murmur of his team over comm channels, aware of their mission, aware of potential threats. 

Someone bumped him further into Sam's arms. It took him a moment to realize it wasn't by accident. A stranger plastered himself against his backside, all hips and hands, sandwiching Steve between him and Sam. Steve was about to ask the man to move along but before he could Sam had his hand on the man's chest, pushing him away.

"You better step back if you know what's good for you. No one invited you."

"Hey, man, I was just--" The guy was still trying to dance. 

"I know what you were trying to do, now go before I break your face." The guy didn't seem perturbed but merrily turned around to start dancing with someone else. "Did you see that?" asked Sam. "The nerve of that guy."

"Yeah," said Steve, pulling Sam back into his arms. "Who's rescuing who now?"

Sam chuckled. Then, one of the black-suited security men appeared, tapping Sam on his shoulder, making a "this way" hand gesture and expecting them to follow.  

They gave each other a look. "Easy," said Steve, just under his breath, and he kept his hands on Sam as they followed the man through the parting crowds. "Nat," said Steve. "We're on the move."

"Copy. Play it cool, guys, whatever you see in there. They're going to take you first to the warm up room where you'll wait before show time."

There was no turning back now. At one point he and Sam would have to figure out how to break away unseen. If this place followed the same pattern as Jacksonville, they needed to find a room with a false wall and hopefully locate the missing agents. 

They reached the back of the club, away from the noise and frenetic energy of the dance floor, and stopped at another velvet rope hung in front of the darkened maw of a hallway entrance. Steve eyed the guards, remembering the likelihood that they were enhanced in some fashion. The guards indicated that Steve and Sam should hold their arms out while he passed a metal detector over their bodies. Steve breathed in slowly, holding his shield in such a way that it was mostly out of reach of the wand. The wand beeped, but since he was very obviously not carrying any weapons the guards let it pass. They took more time with Sam, and eventually waved them both through. 

"You notice they haven't said a word?" asked Sam, turning his head slightly to look at Steve. "None of these dudes have spoken at all."

Steve hadn't noticed, but realized that Sam was right. It was so difficult to hear anyone due to the noise, it hadn't struck him as odd. 

"Maybe they're just shy," said Steve, but he squeezed Sam's hand, letting him know he was taking him seriously.

Their guide led them through the long hallway, passing several private rooms. Steve noted the guards stationed outside each entrance. The rooms lacked doors and he caught glimpses of naked bodies, men being sucked off or thrusting over another man bent over. Some rooms had lots of naked bodies lounging around in big overstuffed chairs and couches, impossible to tell what was being done to whom. 

Sweat dampened Steve's forehead, and he willed his latent arousal away. He didn't want to be aroused at this sort of hedonistic excess. 

They reached their destination. The guard stationed outside the room had a cold, flat expression, watching them closely. 

The word that best described what met their eyes was "orgy." There were booths surrounding the outside of what he assumed must be the "warm up" room with couples or groups cuddled close together, talking and petting and kissing, but the majority of the inhabitants occupied bed-like chaises in the center and were flat out having sex in awkward groups of twos, threes, or more: Men bent over or on their backs, legs up in the air, one guy enthusiastically swallowing his partner's penis all the way to the root, another with his face between the butt-cheeks of someone else. There were bowls of condoms and lube placed all around like candy dishes. 

He saw all of this in a flash, standing beside Sam. No amount of eyewitness accounts could have prepared him for this reality.

"Oh, my God," said Sam, barely audible but Steve could hear him through comms. 

"Guys," said Natasha, and just the sound of her voice brought a welcomed sanity, a reminder that they weren't here on their own, that his team was here as backup, and they had a mission. "Take a deep breath. Don't look at what's going on around you. That's not your concern. This is your call. We can end this now, or we can go on. What's it going to be?"

The unease in Sam's gentle eyes decided it for Steve, and he took note of the three guards, two in the room and one at the door, assessing the situation and their options. But one of the guards stepped forward, pointing to an empty booth, clearly intending to usher them into the room.

Sam squeezed his hand. "We go on," said Sam.

Steve was about to protest, knowing full well Sam didn't want to be there anymore than he did, when he caught sight of the man who'd tried dancing with them earlier, in a booth on the other side of the room, entwined with two or three others. The man waved, and gave a toothy smile that set Steve's instincts firing.

"We go on," he agreed, battling the many different gut reactions he was having as they followed the guard to the booth. 

The booths didn't provide any privacy besides a separation from the center of the room, but at least it was something. 

They took their seats. "I'm sorry, Sam," he said. He knew very well they couldn't sit there side-by-side as if they were waiting at the dentist, so he angled to face him. "I'm so sorry. I'll get us out of this."

There was a crease between Sam's eyes. "Do me a favor?" asked Sam. 

"Anything," said Steve. 

"Stop apologizing."

Steve held his breath, and looked down at their hands. 

"I don't know if I can do this," said Sam, leaning in and pressing his forehead against Steve's.

"It's okay," said Steve, quickly. "You don't have to do anything."

"No," said Sam, with a shake of his head. "I don't mean _this_. I don't mean the op. I mean…" And he looked at Steve with dark, wet eyes. Everything around them dropped away. 

Sam seemed to struggle, a brief tug of war, before he surrendered to something unnamed and placed a thumb to Steve's lower lip. 

The kiss was slow with gentle, parting lips, soft and warm and sweet, so innocent compared to what was going on around them, but Steve felt stripped bare, shaking, trying not to react too strongly. Then, Sam made a noise and the kiss went from hesitant to devouring in less than a heartbeat. Steve groaned, hungry for more. He fell back until Sam was over him, kissing with tongue and lips and teeth. He was still wearing the costume helmet and wanted to take it off but he couldn't and that just made him more desperate.

Steve heard Natasha over comms but it was patchy and crackling, then her voice cut out entirely. Somewhere in the fog of his brain, Steve registered that comms were down. He parted his legs so Sam could thrust against him, his penis pressed hard against the fabric of his shorts. Sam kissed his neck, his chest, all around the painted star, and Steve inhaled sharply, thrusting up again. 

Sam took hold of the waist of Steve's shorts. He tugged once, pulling the elastic waistband, and Steve's penis popped out. He gasped as Sam took Steve's cock in his hand, rubbing the tip along his lips, before swallowing him down.

Steve might have sworn, he wasn't sure, folding protectively over Sam as he sucked him hard. He couldn't last long. It was all too much, and Steve tried to speak just as he began to come. 

His cock slipped from Sam's mouth. Sam's eyes were hard and brilliant, come dripping off his lips. Steve kissed him, even hungrier than before, licking at his lips, drinking him in. 

Natasha's voice came through again. Steve pulled back, holding Sam close. Sam was panting. 

"Nat," said Steve, finding the dregs of his sanity somehow, but she cut out again. "There's something wrong with comms," he said to Sam, a hand at the back of Sam's neck. 

Sam's breathing was uneven, but he nodded in acknowledgment. Steve wasn't sure what if anything he could do. He knew what he _wanted_ to do, but he would eat his shield before compromising Sam further. And there was the added pressure of the operation possibly going sideways. 

He murmured Sam's name, putting a question into this voice. Sam burrowed against him. "What can I do?"

Sam took Steve's hand in his, then pressed it against his erection. "Just this," he said, muffled. 

Sam was wearing more clothes than Steve, but the clasp on his dark costume pants were easy enough. Steve slipped his hand in. Sam thrust into Steve's grip.

With his free hand, Steve cupped Sam's face, caressing. He kissed Sam again and Sam grunted, biting at Steve's bottom lip, sucking it in. Steve felt his dick harden again. 

"You're incredible," he whispered, just as Sam surged forward and came, beautifully. 

He was relieved to see Sam smile. Steve brought his come-covered fingers up to his mouth, giving one an experimental lick. 

"Jesus, Steve," said Sam, shaking his head. Steve had never seen Sam blush before. 

Static filtered through their comm, bringing them back to reality. Steve saw that much of the activity in the room had calmed down, except for the man who had tried to dance with them, still whooping it up and making a big fuss with his partners. 

"That's the man from before, from the dance floor," he said with a nod in the man's direction.

Sam followed his gaze, his expression hardening. "You think that means something?"

Just then, the light in the room changed, shifting from the sort of eerie moonlight blue that had given the room just enough light to see everything, down to a darkened glow. From the ceiling, emerging out of nowhere, a dais descended held by a thick chain carrying three performers. 

The intel from the task force hadn't specified how the performers appeared, only that once they did, they chose certain members of the audience and disappeared with them.

"Ceiling's not real," said Sam. 

"Right," answered Steve, he looked across the room again but the man who had tried to dance with them was gone. Steve couldn't see him anywhere, but all three guards had entered, standing at attention equidistant from each other. 

As the dais settled in the center of the room, the performers came to life. They were all thin and naked, with chalky white make-up applied over their skin and face, their hair also chalked white, even on the one performer who had black skin. There was something strange about their eyes, their slack facial expressions, and Steve didn't like how young they seemed. 

At first the performers were only interested in each other, but Steve knew the next stage would be to engage the audience, and he was not going to wait around for that. 

"All right," he said, making a decision. He didn't like sending Sam first without knowing what to expect, but it was the best option. Sam had been watching him, reading his decision on his face. 

Steve made sure they were both more or less decent again and ignoring the fact that he still had an erection. "Ready?" he asked. 

"More than ready," said Sam. 

"You're going up first. Be prepared for anything. I'll be right behind."

"Copy that."

He took his shield, quickly calculated all the angles, then threw it, knocking out each of the guards, the shield ricocheting off the walls and boomeranging back to him. 

There were several protests from the more vocal spectators, a few even grabbing hold of Sam. Steve slapped their hands away. The performers merely looked curious as they stepped onto the dais. Steve held his shield out as Sam swung around and jumped on. He pushed and watched Sam fly up, grab hold of the chain, and disappear as the ceiling swallowed him up.

Steve, with just a glance around at everyone, said, "Excuse me," and leapt, grabbing hold of the chain and following Sam.

On the other side, Sam was fighting two guards trying to pin him down. Steve jumped over onto solid floor, putting one of the guards in a chokehold and letting him drop just as Sam punched the other guard hard enough to knock him out. 

They were in a darkened room, the only light coming from the access points leading to the club below. Several of the chalky-white performers were cowering on the floor. To one side stood a couple of large big game cages stacked on top of each other, containing bedraggled looking humans.

Something felt off, and Sam, noticing the same thing, placed his hand flat against one of the walls. It passed through. "It's fake," he said. "All of it."

"How do we take it down?" asked Steve.

Sam crouched low, then pointed to a corner. "There."

It looked like an ordinary generator, similar to what they'd seen in Jacksonville. Steve threw his shield at it, sparking showering, and the fake walls disintegrated, revealing a large cavernous area, nearly the entire width of the building.

As soon as the walls came down, he felt his ears pop, a rush of returning noise. He hadn't even realized how deadened the sound had been. 

"Steve, Sam, come in," asked Natasha, and Steve felt a rush of relief. 

"We're here," he said. "There's some kind of dampening signal over the private rooms."

"Roger that. Where are you now?"

"Upper floors," he said, and then got a good look around. "Stand by."

The majority of the space held the expected drug operation, with several long tables set up with an assembly line of workers. None of the workers had stopped, despite all the surrounding walls disappearing on them. Steve also saw the same medical lab equipment they'd confiscated from Jacksonville, only a lot more of it. He noting the surgical bays and cryofreeze tanks, the electro-shock chairs of the same type they'd seen in Washington D.C. 

"Look familiar?" he asked Sam.

"A little too familiar. Look over here," said Sam, rushing across to a couple of elaborate looking medical chairs, his expression stark and harrowed. They found the missing agents, strapped in and unconscious. Steve shook off the memory of Bucky tied down on a similar table. 

Sam's medical training took over and he checked for vital signs, glancing at the equipment that had most recently been used. "They're alive. But I think they've had their tongues removed." 

Suddenly, there was an alarm blaring loudly and a small army of guards came rushing in from a couple of side doors. Steve raised his shield as they started shooting, bullets sparking off the medical equipment, off the metal cages. The kidnapped victims cowered low but still made no sound.

"Guys," said Nat. 

He threw his shield at a line of guards. "Nat, we found the missing agents. They're alive but need immediate medical attention. And we've got company. Can you read my GPS?"

"Got it. Sending Rhodey."

A moment later Steve heard the familiar sound of the War Machine suit blasting its way through concrete. There was a shower of dust and debris and Steve was never so happy to see the giant metal suit descend from the ceiling blasting a wide scathe through the opposition. 

"Someone call for assistance?" asked Rhodes as he blasted through a line of guards.

"Sam," said Steve, replacing his shield back onto his arm. "You and Rhodes release these people, get them out of here. Nat should be sending agents to start the clean up."

"What are you going to do?" asked Sam. 

"This place isn't running itself. I'm going to find Colman Richards. Vision, what do you have for me?" 

"I've disabled the automated trigger for the neurotoxin, but there's a manual release; it can still be detonated. First floor, southwest center," said the Vision over comms.

"That'll be somewhere in the privates rooms, probably hidden behind one of these holographic walls. Okay, meet me there." 

With a quick squeeze of Sam's shoulder, Steve returned to the fake ceiling and jumped down into the now empty warm up room. He found the Vision and they began a systematic exploration of each private room, hurrying any straggling civilians along. 

The hallways were like a maze, shifting, confusing, but the Vision stopped at the center of a long corridor, looking up and down at the wall, holding his hand out to touch. Steve did the same, palm flat, and felt the tickling frisson of energy. He stepped through into a darkened room illuminated by a bank of computer screens showing different parts of the club and the immediate exterior. In the corner screen, Steve saw Natasha and Wanda directing several agents. In another, he saw Sam and Rhodes escorting the caged victims from the building. 

"Well, it's about time," said the man sitting in a swivel chair in front of the screens. He turned and Steve was unsurprised to recognize the dancing man from before. He winked at Steve and waggled his fingers in a hello. "That's right."

"Colman Richards," said Steve. It didn't look like the man had any immediate intentions of releasing the neurotoxin, but Steve glanced at the Vision just to make sure. The Vision stood stock still, assessing, calculating. 

"Oh, wouldn't that be neat and tidy," said the man. "I'm afraid it ain't gonna be that easy, sugar. That's not my name."

"Then what is? What game are you playing?" asked Steve. "You made us as soon as we entered the club."

The man shrugged, a little smile on his lips, but he was starting to sweat. Behind him, the screens flickered and then began showing Sam and Steve in the warm-up room. The image froze on Sam between Steve's legs. "Well, what could we do when the Avengers are at our door? Outmatched, time to fold it all in. Wanted to see how far you'd go. Pretty far, it seems."

Steve felt shame and anger, and he took a step forward, but then stopped. Something was off and it suddenly clicked. He narrowed his eyes. "You're stalling. Who do you work for?"

The man huffed a sort of half laugh. He had risen from the swivel chair and was leaning against the table that held the computer equipment. "They said you were good." Then he suddenly twisted into himself. His skin began to crack, glowing red. "I wish I could tell you. I really do."

Steve felt alarm and dismay mixed together, cursing silently to himself. "Nat," he said over comms. "We've got Extremis in the building about to blow. Get everyone out, now. Sam, do you copy? Rhodes. Get out."

"Uh, time?" asked Natasha. 

"I don't know," said Steve approaching the man who was shaking now, sweat dripping down his face. "Less than a minute."

"What about you?" That was Sam. Steve's heart clenched. 

"Don't worry about me. Just get everyone out." Steve turned to the Vision. "You too," he said, but the Vision didn't move. 

Steve stepped closer, ignoring the uncomfortable heat.

"You can fight this." The man laughed bitterly, but he looked at Steve and there was regret and fear in his eyes. Heedless of the intense heat, Steve grabbed the man's shoulders. "Come on, fight it."

The man shook his head. "I didn't want this. I didn't want any of this. This wasn't my idea."

"Who's idea was it? Tell me who did this?"

"I don't know. I don't know his name. I never saw his face. He was after the other guy. He was after the Soldier."

Steve froze, chilled despite the waves of heat rolling over him burning through to his skin. "Why? What does he want with him? Tell me."

"I guess we can have that dance now?" asked the man, skin cracking further, grimacing in pain. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't want to die. I don't want to--" 

He screamed in agony, and Steve then realized he, too, was yelling. It felt like he was on fire.

"Captain," said the Vision, grasping his shoulder. "Let him go."

Steve was wrapped in the Vision's cape just as the man crumbled into a ball, pulsing bright and tragic. Steve didn't see what happened next as the Vision emitted his beam and the man's cries were silenced. There was fire and light and Steve shut his eyes, hanging on as they flew fast just as everything exploded. 

Several explosions followed as the first one set off detonations throughout the building. Vision set down on the sidewalk opposite the front entrance. There were civilians everywhere, clutching each other, tearful and crying. A few windows exploded, glass raining down. The crowd cried out and collectively shrank backward.

Steve struggled to stand, his hands and forearms smarting. The costume gauntlet gloves had taken the brunt of the heat, but as he pulled them off he saw blistered, reddened skin.

There was a yammering in his ear, a jumble of Nat and Sam's voices and he sighed as he said, "We're fine." The sudden silence was just as deafening. "We're both out. Front of the building. Northwest corner."

A few moments later the rest of the team appeared, and Steve felt immense relief at the sight of Sam's tight, unsmiling face and Natasha's more flustered, aggrieved glare. "Status?" he asked.

"Everyone's out," said Natasha. "The missing agents are being treated, and the task force squad is taking over. They called the DOJ in to handle the trafficking victims." She paused, then added, "You cut it a little close."

"I know," said Steve. "I… it was important." 

Natasha's glare softened, and honestly, Steve didn't think she had a right to be annoyed seeing as she'd pulled a similar stunt on him not that long ago, but he reached out and squeezed her arm, wincing at his blistered hands. 

She rolled her eyes at him. "We can call it a night, at least for the time being," she said as she marched away. "Maria's handling the rest."

The others followed her but Steve lagged, grimacing as he flexed his hands and forearms. He looked over at Sam, who had stayed behind with him. He couldn't for the life of him figure out what Sam was thinking.

"That hurt?" asked Sam, indicating his arms.

"A little." And his throat choked with all the many different things he wanted to say. Sam held out a hand, asking for Steve to show him his arms. Sam's touch was light. "It'll go away soon."

"Come on," said Sam, taking him by the elbow. Steve willingly followed. 

 

**Back at the safe house**

The team waited for an all clear from Hill before decamping back to headquarters. 

The safe house was little more than a one story three-room bungalow on Chicago's north side, its best feature being the large yard where the quinjet could land in stealth mode.

Steve held still as Sam slathered a cooling burn salve on his hands and forearms. They immediately felt better, the cream sinking into his heated skin. It surprised him that, after everything that had happened, the painted star on his chest was still there, only a little smudged.

"Thank you," he said but Sam wouldn't meet his eyes. 

The rest of the team politely attempted to give them space, talking amongst themselves on the other side of the room. Only Natasha was watching them. 

Sam wiped his hands and hastily stepped back, with that same tight unsmiling expression that was so wholly unlike him. "All better, Cap."

Steve swallowed past the knot of worry threatening to take over. "I don't even know what to say."

Sam leaned against the back wall, still in his costume, arms wrapped around his chest. "Don't say--" Sam stopped, pinched his lips, shook his head. "It wasn't anything you could… It was a jo--" He cut himself off again, and Steve saw that Sam was gripping himself tightly. He took a deep breath. "It wasn't your fault. We both knew what could happen. What was going to happen."

"Of course it's my fault," said Steve. "I put you in that situation." He took a breath. "If it's the feed you're worried about, Vision took care of it. Nothing got out on the 'net."

Sam moved abruptly, pacing, shaking his head. "This wasn't… You think I care about that? Jesus, Steve. What happened in there, that wasn't--I…" But Sam couldn't finish anything he was saying, agitated and frustrated. 

"Sam, please, just look at me," asked Steve, getting up and following Sam's movements. Sam turned and met his eyes, dark and shining. Steve was really beginning to fear that he'd messed things up pretty bad, that he'd broken something between him and Sam, and a flare of panic threatened to take over. Before thinking better of it, Steve reached out. "I'm sorry. I'm just, Sam--"

Sam winced, and Steve dropped his hands. 

"Aw, man." Sam rubbed at his face, making an angry noise. "Fuck," said Sam, raising his arms up, cradling his own head as if wanting to hide. 

The use of profanity was more a sign of how upset Sam was than anything else. He hardly ever swore around Steve. 

The room sunk into a deafening silence and Steve looked at the others, no longer pretending they weren't watching. "Can we have the room, please?"

It took a moment for his request to register. There wasn't another part of the house for them to retreat to. No separate kitchen, and the bathroom and the bedroom were small and wouldn't provide any privacy. 

"Right, of course, Cap," said Rhodes and the others jumped up and followed him out to the quinjet.

"Natasha, please stay," asked Steve, and Natasha met his eyes and then nodded. 

Sam, who had retreated back against the wall with his arms wrapped around his chest, head down, looked at both Steve and Natasha. 

"There should really be a third officer present, when discussing a breach of…" Steve trailed off.

"Oh, you going military on me now? You trying to protect my honor?" asked Sam with a look of bitter amusement and surprise. "You saying you took advantage of me, Steve?"

"I don't know. I don't know what to do," cried Steve, moving as Sam began pacing again, cursing under his breath. "I just, Sam. Tell me what I can do. I'm sorry, I'm just so sorry. I can't tell you how--"

"Aw man, just stop. Stop. I can't--there isn't anything--God damn it. I--" But he couldn't continue and just looked at Steve, and Steve had to breathe through the need to go to him, had to put his hands on his hips to stop from reaching out.

"Guys," said Nat. She held a hand out, as if calming a wild animal, then spoke into comms. "Vision? Can you please put a black out over this house, no signal goes in or out?" she said. 

"Of course. I remind you Agent Hill will be returning shortly, current ETA is less than three hours."

"Send a fifteen minute warning, to my phone."

"Very well, Miss Romanoff," said the Vision, sounding much like JARVIS. 

She had kept her eyes on both Steve and Sam while speaking, then she took out her ear piece. Steve did the same and so did Sam. They tossed the communication devices onto the kitchen table. 

Steve watched Nat offer her hand to Sam. "Do you trust me?" she asked.

After a moment of thought, Sam nodded, taking her hand. She tugged until they stepped closer. Sam closed his eyes as Natasha kissed him. They kissed until Sam let out a shuddery breath and relaxed. 

Steve hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath until Natasha turned and held out a hand to Steve.

"Nat," he said, shaking his head. Sex had caused this situation in the first place. He didn't think more sex was really the solution.

"Trust me," she said.

And he did trust her, so he took her hand. Their lips met, and he remembered how much he loved kissing her. 

She broke apart, then looked at the two of them. Steve hesitated, heart pounding, but he opened his palm and held it out for Sam. Everything inside of him -- his confusion, his fears, his desire and love -- all threatened to spill out in a messy jumble. He met Sam's bright, uncertain eyes searching for his. Sam took his hand.

Before Steve could take a breath they were kissing, at first simple and cautious but quickly turning hungry and desperate. 

He felt Natasha guiding them into the small bedroom and he stepped away from Sam so he could tear his costume off. Steve undid Sam's pants, pushing them down; Natasha stripped the hated hot pants off him and a moment later he and Sam were naked, falling onto the bed. 

The room was plain but tidy, the sheets clean. Steve went onto his back, pulling Sam on top but Sam had other ideas and rolled them over. Steve caged Sam between his arms, capturing his lips, licking down his neck. 

Steve sat back between Sam's legs, raking his hands down his chest. He knew Sam's body the same way he knew Natasha's body, from all those months spent side-by-side fighting together, working together. He knew the spicy warm thrill of his scent after a good workout. But he didn't know Sam like this: all that bare skin, legs splayed with his erection sticking up big and glistening. He saw Natasha watching, leaning against the headboard of the bed.

He had his hands on Sam's knees, slowly feeling his way up his thighs to the base of his erection. He'd held Sam's cock earlier but he hadn't gotten a look at its dusky color, its impressive girth. Sam was watching him, chest rising and falling with steady breaths, then he sat up and grabbed Steve by the back of his neck, pulling him in for a devouring kiss, sloppy and full of spit and tongue. Steve whimpered, nudging Sam further up on the bed, going between Sam's legs and taking his erection into his mouth. First the tip, swirling this tongue around, then he licked it all the way down, swallowing as much as he could take. 

Steve discovered that, away from the horror of the club, Sam was noisy in bed, making hungry, strangled sounds, murmuring nonsense, the rumble of his voice making Steve's cock ache. 

"Steve," said Sam, semi-coherent, and Steve felt Sam touch his cheek, a thumb pressing against Steve's stretched lips. "I'm going to come, baby."

Steve paused only long enough to say, "I want it." 

Sam grunted then thrust up. Steve felt Sam get harder just as he began to come. He swallowed what he could, licking up the rest until Sam shivered away. 

He crawled up, his hard penis dragging a wet line up Sam's stomach. Steve placed his hand against Sam's chest and felt his heart beat fast and strong. 

He remembered Natasha and looked around for her. 

"I'm here," she said, stroking the back of his head. She'd taken off her Lady Thor costume but still had on lacy underwear, one hand cupping between her legs. She bent in to kiss him, then leaned over to kiss Sam. 

As she pulled away again, Sam rose up on his elbow, moving with her to keep the kiss going. Steve inhaled sharply as he felt Sam cup his erection in his hand. 

"I think I know what I want to do with this," said Sam, fingers wrapped around Steve's cock, working it slow and easy. "Do we have….?" he asked, looking at Natasha.

"Yeah," she said. 

Steve was happy just to lie there and look at the two of them but he rose up on his elbow and watched Natasha scramble from the bed, rummage around in the pile of clothing on the floor. She came back and tossed a tube of lube and a condom onto his stomach. 

Steve's cock jerked slightly in Sam's grip as he realized what Sam was asking. "Uh," he said, picking up the lube and condom, seeing the Club Blue logo on both. "I've never actually done that before."

Sam smiled and kissed him. "I have, both ways. Although, " he added with charming embarrassment, tugging at his ear. "Not with a guy. Dated this girl once, she was real freaky, liked her toys."

Steve couldn't help but stare at Sam a little bit. Natasha was chuckling. 

"Like I was gonna say no," said Sam. "Girl was super fine." He turned over onto his hands and knees, looking at Natasha. "Speaking of super fine, come here."

She crawled closer and he kissed her, then took her hand and sucked on her fingers. "Just go slow," he said, as he released one of Natasha's breasts from the confines of her black bra. 

Taking a deep breath, Steve knelt behind Sam, coating his fingers with lube. He knew what to do even if he'd never done it before. Sam made a noise as Steve circled his finger then pushed in. 

Watching Sam coax Natasha higher onto the bed so he could take her panties off made Steve's hands shake and his cock thrust forward of its own accord. He lowered his eyes or else he'd come without anyone touching him at all, and concentrated on adding a second finger, experimentally pressing down until he found the spot that made Sam gasp. 

He put the condom on and pushed in slowly. Sam was resting his head on the inside of Natasha's thigh. She petted him, moving down to kiss him. She made a "hold it" hand signal, and Steve stopped, sweat dripping down the center of back. Sam nodded, and Steve pushed in further. He changed the angle and Sam gasped again, nodding into Natasha's shoulder, mumbling, "More, more."

Steve kissed Sam's back, he kissed Natasha's knee and calf, kissing indiscriminately at any body part he could reach as he lost himself, thrusting hard, all the way in, until Sam arched to take in more. It felt incredible, hot and slick. Steve gripped Sam's hips, pushing in balls deep, thrusting until with a cry he came.

He panted wetly into Sam's back. "Sam. I…" but he couldn't begin to find words for the chaos running around his heart. He pushed back at the wall of emotion that slammed into him out of nowhere, trembling as he pulled out. He tossed the condom aside, then curled close to Sam and Natasha.

With a reassuring kiss and damp press of his forehead, Sam got off the bed and went into the bathroom. Steve, alone with Natasha, kissed her over and over again, welcoming her arms around him. "Hey," he said, still shaking a little.

"Hey yourself." She tucked his head against hers.

They traded kisses back and forth. He caressed her stomach lightly, then down further, circling between her legs, pausing until she nodded. He felt how wet she was, making her wetter. They continued kissing, and she took his cock in her hand. A moment later Sam returned, the bed dipping. He lay on Natasha's other side. Sam licked at her nipple, playing with it, sucked on it, and Natasha came with a gush of liquid over Steve's fingers. He grunted into her mouth, coming again in the grip of her hand.

He was still hard. He didn't think his erection would go down while he was with Sam and Natasha like this. He thought he should say something, that they should all speak, but the words weren't there. They lay touching each other, until Natasha's phone beeped a warning.

Fifteen minutes later, they were dressed and presentable in spare clothes, with the bed left unmade. They closed the door behind them and strode out to join the rest of their team.

**

The team returned to Avengers Headquarters in the early hours of the morning. During the flight back, Sam wouldn't look at him, and Steve was trying not to worry about it. The debriefing at HQ was strained, but Steve attempted to cut through the awkward silence. "Let's move on, guys."

He wanted to pull Sam aside but knew he had to let it go for the time being. 

The next day he returned to Chicago with Hill to meet with the task force, wanting to ensure they were informed of the investigation going forward as well as maneuvering to have whatever equipment that survived the explosion be sent to the Avengers. When he returned back to headquarters, Sam was on patrol duty and wouldn't be off till late into the night. 

Steve passed out on the couch in the common room waiting for Sam. He woke the next day mid-morning, too warm under a blanket that had been thrown over him, the hot sunlight streaming in through the windows. 

He ate some food and took a long shower before finding Sam outside, wing suit on, working with Wanda, Rhodes and the Vision, and laughing at something Wanda was saying to him. They were working on aerial drills, with Sam flying in, picking Wanda up, flipping her in mid air over to Rhodes who swooped her over to the Vision, while she used her powers to attack different moving targets. 

"Hey, Cap."

Steve saw Natasha a few feet away, watching the antics from the comfort of a high chair, swinging a blow horn. "AGAIN," she blasted from the horn then smiled at him, using a device on her lap to reset the targets. 

He squashed the urge to kiss her, but then decided what the hell, and brushing his lips against her cheek. 

She gave him a curious, lopsided smile but seemed pleased. 

"They look like they're having fun." He squinted at the sky, a hand up to shade the sun. 

"A little too much fun," she said, with that evil glint in her eye she sometimes got. She raised her wrist to her mouth. "Sam, mix it up a bit."

Sam picked up Wanda by an ankle, rising straight up in the air before letting go. She squawked, then flipped over to levitate mid-air, only missing one of the targets as Sam swooped in and she blasted him away with a burst of power. 

The team continued their drills for another twenty minutes before Natasha said they could quit. Steve hung back as Sam landed, wings folding in. Sam took his pack off, then removed his gloves and goggles, sitting down on one of the benches that lined the area. The others left, leaving Steve alone with Sam.

Steve sat next to him. "That was good," he said. "You guys look great."

"We're getting there."

They sank into silence. "Are we okay?" asked Steve.

"Aw, man," said Sam, rubbing at his head. "I don't know."

"It was my fault," Steve said, quickly. "I should never have put you in that situation."

"Right," said Sam. "Of course it is. Just like everything else you can't fix or predict or stop from happening is your fault."

Steve started to protest, but then shut his mouth. He knew he had a tendency to pile on the guilt and that everyone usually called him out on it, especially Sam. He felt a constriction in his chest, a stinging in his eyes. 

He dropped his head into his hands. "I can't mess this up, Sam. You and me. Please."

"I'm not mad," said Sam, quieter. He felt a hand on his shoulder, then on his back, and he leaned closer to Sam. "And I'm not going anywhere. Hey, look at me."

Steve took a breath and sat up.

"That night, it was a lot, more than I expected. But I wouldn't change anything. Given the same situation again, I'd have your back, and I'm pretty sure you'd have mine." He paused and Steve saw again the searching, furrowed-brow confusion as Sam thought through what he wanted to say. "I'm sorry I freaked out on you after we got out of that place."

Steve shook his head. "You have nothing to apologize for."

"I know," said Sam. "It was just that… I couldn't find the words for what I wanted to say." 

Sam stood up and Steve followed as they meandered toward the perimeter. It was early afternoon and the sun was at its highest. The scent of warmed grass rose from the ground, accompanied by the buzzing of insects and the distant hum of activity from the Avengers building. 

"Ever since you and Nat landed on my doorstep, I've been one hundred percent committed to this, to you. I don't regret that."

Steve felt too many things at once: a huge swelling of emotion, of unworthiness and pride. He took a shaky breath and had to look away.

"What happened, I can't lie and say it didn't mean something to me, being with you like that. It was good. Special."

Sam was giving him a small, flirty smile and Steve felt himself blush. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," said Sam. "Special. Like 'earth shattering, ruin me for anyone else' kind of special, man."

Steve laughed little, cheeks burning. 

"I just… I couldn't stand the thought of that club being all we had like that, because of a job, as if it didn't mean something more. I wasn't expecting to feel that. That's what I meant when I said I didn't think I could do this. Because I also couldn't…" and Sam took in a breath. They stood on a hill overlooking the entire complex. A breeze blew, alleviating some of the heat. "I don't know how to have that with you, be with you like that, and also be on this team."

Steve shook his head. "I wasn't asking--"

"I know you weren't. You wouldn't. You wouldn't have to. I'm already there, man."

The weight of what Sam was saying brought back that old feeling he'd had as a kid, trying to get air into his lungs but unable to make anything work. Steve wrapped his arms around his chest. 

"And I couldn't say all that to you. At the time." Sam shook his head, his voice rusty and broken. 

Steve would never ask anything more of Sam than what could be given, or ask more of Natasha for that matter, but he knew also that he _couldn't_ , or maybe that he wouldn't, not while he carried that shield. Sam deserved a lot better. He turned once again to look over the entire complex, seeing the quinjets and the 'A' of the Avengers stamped on the side of the building. This was his home. It came first. At least for now.

"Will you," and Steve had to clear his throat. "Will you still run with me, in the mornings?"

Sam reached for him and Steve tucked his head into the crook of Sam's neck. "Yeah, man. Every morning, 6 AM, I'll always be there."

Steve was thinking, suddenly, of Bruce, and the words he'd said to him months ago in New York, about waiting too long. "Just know," he said. "Just know, all right, what you mean to me."

Then it was Sam's turn to hold on too tight, and it was a long time before they returned to headquarters. 

 

**Late at night, in the common room**

Nothing changed but at the same time everything changed. 

"Give it time," said Natasha after observing how Steve kept looking over at Sam who was talking with Rhodes on the other side of the room. "It's only been a couple of weeks."

"I know," said Steve. They spoke quietly, seated together in the common room. Steve spent most of time with Natasha. With her, he didn't have to pretend. She patted his hands, then left him as the evening wound down. 

The other team members said good night one by one. Steve remained seated on a stool at the kitchen bar, paging through the most recent intel. 

"You want a cup of coffee?" asked Sam, and Steve looked up to realize they were alone. The room had that quiet stillness that only came with nighttime, when the building was mostly at rest. 

"Hi. Uh, yeah, thanks." Steve set aside the tablet he'd been working on, trying not to be too obviously thrilled they were alone together.

"Does caffeine even work on you?" Sam set the coffee maker brewing. 

"Not really," said Steve, wryly. "But, I appreciate the taste of coffee anyway."

"That's kind of tragic."

"The defining characteristic of my life."

"Aw, come on, Cap. You're getting all dramatic on me." Sam shook his head and Steve smiled even though he was only half joking. "You won't mind decaf then? Some crazy dude I know insists on going for a run at the butt crack of dawn."

"The jerk."

Sam chuckled and Steve watched him move around the kitchen area, retrieving two mugs, pouring coffee into both as soon as the machine finished. He mixed in two teaspoons of sugar into one and handed Steve the other undoctored. They sipped their coffee in silence and something eased in Steve's chest to know they could still share a quiet moment together despite everything. 

"Anybody, uh, mention a security breach to you, by any chance?" asked Sam, affecting a tone of nonchalance.

Steve narrowed his eyes. "No. Should they have?"

"No, no," said Sam, taking a hasty swallow. "I was just wondering. It's nothing. Just thought I'd ask, you know, in case. I don't know… Look, I'm handling it."

"Sam," said Steve. "If there's something I should know--"

"I'm handling it," he repeated, waving his mug around. "I got it. Trust me."

Steve knew without asking that if Sam thought it was serious he would have said so. "Of course."

Sam's eyebrows lifted slightly, then he lowered his gaze. Steve only had to wait a moment before Sam was telling him all about the insect-sized thief who'd tripped their security net and crossed the perimeter. Steve resisted the urge to raise his feet off the ground and look for invading hostile bugs. As if they didn't have enough to worry about. 

"Wait, so let me get this straight. He was the size of an ant, and he got the jump on you?"

"Hey man, dude may be small, but he was strong. And quick." Sam looked indignant and embarrassed at the same time.

Steve manfully refrained from laughing at him. "And you're sure he's not a threat?"

He shrugged. "The tech he was using might be. The man," he shook his head. "I'm looking for him. My gut says he could be an asset."

Steve processed what Sam had said, thinking through how miniaturizing tech could be useful in the field, as well as how it could be used against them. "All right. Like I said, I trust you."

Sam gave him a slow smile. 

Every day Steve got a report on some new enhancement or technology that brought more players into the mix. It was getting so it was hard to keep up. 

"It's a whole different world, huh?" said Sam, and Steve realized that Sam had been watching him. "Seems like everybody got some new piece of flash ready to cause trouble."

He wondered when Sam had gotten so good at reading him. "Yeah," said Steve, trying to make light of it. "Never a dull moment." 

"You ever wish you could go back? To simpler times?"

"The Second World War was not simpler times."

"You know what I mean," said Sam. "Back before all this." He waved his hand, indicating the whole building, probably the whole world. "You could have had a different life."

To go back to Peggy. Back to before Bucky fell. Back before gods and monsters. Before alien armies from outer space and before veterans were brainwashed, coaxed, or kidnapped into experiments that burned them alive, that changed them into weapons. He could have stopped Zola. Except the dream Wanda had given him had shown he could never go back.

He rarely let himself indulge in this sort of thinking, the land of might-have-beens. Natasha was right, there was no point in wishing what could never be.

Steve shook his head. "No. My place is here now. But I do have regrets."

Sam nodded, his warm brown eyes full of his own regrets. He reached for Steve's hand. Steve held on as if Sam had grabbed him for a flight, like if he let go he'd fall. He sensed Sam step closer and before he knew it he was hauled up and pulled into a hug. "I shouldn't have asked that," said Sam.

"It's okay," he said. 

He relaxed in Sam's arms. A moment later they were face-to-face. The kiss started slow, then all at once Steve had his mouth open, taking in everything Sam had to give until he pulled back, his forehead pressing into Sam's shoulder.

Steve sat down on the stool. "We go much further and I won't be able to stop," he said. 

"Maybe I don't want to stop," said Sam.

He put his hands on Sam's hips. "I don't mean just tonight. You were right before, Sam. We start this and…."

"And what? We gonna pick out china patterns?"

Steve huffed a laugh, wondering if that would be so bad. 

"Maybe I didn't know what I was talking about," said Sam, his eyes shining.

"You don't think that." The truth was Steve couldn't see to the end of next week, and he was pretty certain a casual relationship was out of the question, for both of them. It had been easier easing back into a friends-only dynamic with Natasha, but that had been mainly her choice, and her heart was given elsewhere. He could see himself in a long-term relationship with Sam, team members by day, lovers by night, in some idyllic other version of their lives. In reality, he knew, it would not be so simple.

Although maybe he was just afraid.

Sam was quiet, but he cradled Steve against him. Then he bent over and brushed his lips to the side of Steve's head. "I guess our timing sucks." 

"Pretty much the story of my life."

Sam gripped Steve's neck. "There you go again. You're not a passenger, Steve. We all make our choices."

"God, you're right. I know." Steve pushed even more against Sam's stomach. "I'm an idiot."

"Yeah, well, so am I, so we're in good company. Come on," said Sam. "We're getting on toward the maudlin part of the evening, a sure sign that it's time for bed."

Steve let himself be pulled toward the living quarters, hesitating when it came time to part. "Sam, I…"

Sam stepped in, and they kissed each other gently on the lips. "See you in the morning, Cap. 6 AM," said Sam with a smile that was only a little bittersweet, before heading down the hall toward his own set of rooms. 

 

**In the middle of the night -- Toronto, Canada**

Since the events at Club Blue, Steve always ran at Sam's pace. 

The weather turned brisk as they headed toward winter, and they started running with knit hats on their heads and long-sleeved sweatshirts. 

On a chilly morning in late October, Sam and Steve ran at their usual time, and it wasn't until they were well away from headquarters that Sam said, voice lowered, "I've got a line on our missing boy."

Steve didn't react. It was unlikely anyone was watching a routine activity so early in the morning, but it paid to be cautious. He glanced briefly at Sam. 

"Those trafficking victims from Chicago? They were processed out of a facility just outside of Toronto and smuggled in through Buffalo. After the explosion at Club Blue, it took a while to retrace the leads, and they weren't speaking, so it took even longer. There's an old SHIELD base, located in a now-abandoned industrial park, but the place is still drawing power."

They had been so close, all those months ago chasing Rollins, and hadn't even known it. "How did we not know about this place before?" 

"I'm not sure," said Sam, sounding tired. "As far as I can tell, it was a simple warehouse facility in the late '40s but then got repurposed as an auxiliary base of operations during the Cold War. Somewhere along the line, I'm guessing Hydra scrubbed it off the books."

Steve chewed on this, letting the rhythm of their feet create a sort of meditation. He thought back to Club Blue and what they'd found there. He thought of Jacksonville and even before then, all the way back to Buffalo and Washington D.C. 

"He texted me," said Sam, and Steve did almost stop then, but kept running. "Not until I made the connection to the facility in Toronto. I don't know how he does it. He must be wired in somehow, but I was covering my tracks."

"Is he all right? What'd he say?"

Sam didn't answer as they ran steadily up a hill. At first Steve thought Sam was just saving his breath from having to run and speak at the same time going up an incline, but then he caught a glance at Sam's face and realized that he was trying to figure out how to put something into words. 

"It's okay, Sam. Just say whatever it is."

"He said to stay away. His exact words were: 'Drop it. Keep Steve away.' I don't know, man. My gut says he's getting tired. And that's bad." He paused, then added. "I think it's his way of asking for help."

Steve forced himself to keep moving. Bucky had only reached out through text that one other time, when he texted Natasha for back up for Sam. The truth was, with the current political climate, Bucky might be safer out there alone than with him, and it just about killed Steve to admit it, even to just himself.

"We go tonight," said Steve, keeping an eye on how much longer they had before they came back around to Headquarters. 

Sam was silent next to him, and they kept running. 

 

**

After they returned, he texted Natasha: _Meet me later? Dance studio._

From across the mess at breakfast, she looked at her phone and then texted back: _2pm :)_

He got to the studio first and put on music from Delibes's _Coppelia_. He began to warm up at the barre. Natasha entered, chattering mindlessly about fellow agents and the other Avengers in a way that he could absently answer without too much thought, knowing she did so as a ruse. He wondered, not for the first time, how she could be so incredibly perceptive. 

They kept up the chatter until they began working on the _Coppelia pas de duet_ and he raised the volume of the music louder. 

In the center of the floor, she went up _en pointe_ and he held her waist as she pirouetted into an _arabesque_. He held her against his chest. "Can you cover for me? And Sam? Tonight."

Her hand slipped into his, holding her balance, leg raised. They walked in _promenade._ "Do I want to know?"

Steve hesitated. Natasha was always a little cagey when they discussed Bucky. No doubt with good reason. She let out a breath as she balanced, arms in fifth position. They prepared for the lifts. "You already know."

"All right. Depends," she said, her hands over his, braced at her waist. Walking in a wide circle, he lifted her up to chest level, then down, then all the way over, her legs extended too far, and he caught her as they both fell in an ungainly heap. 

"Whoops," she said aloud with a laugh, lying in his arms on the floor, but he knew she'd done it on purpose. He pulled her in close. "Only if you promise me you'll call for extraction if you need it. I'm not joking," she said, pinching him.

He caught her hand, laughing for the benefit of whomever might be watching. Knowing many of the secrets of her body, he tickled her just below her ribs. 

She kicked out, squirmed, and elbowed him hard in the solar plexus. "Oof," he said.

"Serves you right, Rogers." 

They lay close together on the floor. "Thanks," he said, then gave her a quick kiss before popping up and pulling her to standing. "Let's try this again."

**

Sam arranged transportation, and they left headquarters under cover of night. It took an hour to hike to where Sam had stashed a car, then they drove for another four hours to Buffalo where they had to grease a few palms to bypass customs. In the end no one wanted to question Captain America too closely. 

Steve was missing the ease and stealth of a quinjet as well as the Avengers' ability to ignore international borders, but it was nice to be alone with Sam on the road, remembering those months when it had just been the two of them searching for Bucky. They didn't speak much, something about the darkness and the quiet terrain inviting a comfortable silence. When they did speak, it was Steve telling Sam about the place he'd finally bought, a three-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn. 

"It's pretty empty. Haven't had a chance to do anything with it yet. Honestly, I'm not sure how much use I'll get out of it."

"Still good to have your own place. I keep telling you. Your whole life can't be just the Avengers."

Steve wasn't so sure that was true, and he squirmed away from thinking about it.

Their GPS beeped two miles out from the facility, and they hid their car, approaching the site on foot. Through a set of night vision binoculars, Steve watched the stillness of the few standing structures. There were several large multi-storied buildings crowded together, a couple of warehouses and some barrack-type buildings lined up to the side, and an eight-foot fence all along the perimeter. 

"What do you see?" asked Steve. 

Sam held his hand up to his goggles, flipping through settings. He pointed to a building Steve had almost overlooked, a one-story structure off to the left of the facility. "Everything else is dead, no signal, but that one is lit up like a Christmas tree."

Steve observed the building and immediately noticed that it didn't match the others. 

Between the moon and the stars shining too brightly, the lack of cloud cover made the night nearly as light as day. Steve held on to Sam, flying over the fence, landing in the shadow of the building. He stood guard as Sam hacked into the security on the door. Sam tensed beside him, brows creased in confusion as he stared at the door mechanism. "That was too easy," he said.

They moved to step through just as bullets pinged off the doorframe. Sniper fire. Steve pulled Sam back, holding up his shield as someone dark and large emerged from the door of the building, kicking powerfully at Steve's chest and sending both Sam and he backward onto the asphalt. 

He popped up, Sam already in the air. Several camouflaged individuals appeared out of nowhere, firing automatic weapons. The attack was silent, making no sound beyond the thud of gunfire hitting the cold hard ground. 

A man emerged from the building, larger than the rest, dressed all in black except for a grim looking mask and a pale rough-drawn X on his chest. He targeted Steve, fighting dirty and desperate. There was something familiar about his fighting style but Steve couldn't immediately place it. 

The location was a trap, and the sniper fire had saved them from entering the building. But Steve couldn't think of that, blocking several powerful attacks from the masked man. With his shield, he cracked the man's mask but it held on. The man twisted away, slamming Steve hard against his knee, but Steve turned into the movement, upending the man onto his back.

The man started laughing -- a startling sound in the near silent fight. "Still the same, huh, Cap?" said the man, voice distorted but it rubbed against a memory, like sand paper, and Steve was momentarily distracted when the man threw a small, metal device right at Steve's face.

Steve blocked it with his shield but the device spun off and latched onto his chest, sending an electrical charge directly into his heart. He cried out, white-hot pain vibrating throughout his body and he fell to his knees. It took a second for his arms and hands to work again. He tried pulling the thing off, hearing Sam call his name, and a moment later Sam was there, protecting Steve from the masked man and the other hostiles. Sam reached down but Steve yelled, "No, don't touch me," as he felt another burning, electric shock, far stronger than a stun baton, ripple through his body. It would likely kill anyone else and certainly fry Sam's wings out of commission. 

He could barely see or hear, struggling against the mind-numbing pain, couldn't get the right leverage to pull the device off before another bolt locked his muscles and he couldn't move. Sweat poured down his face. He saw that Sam was having a hard time fighting the masked man and the remaining hostiles, hindered by the fact that he wasn't moving from where Steve lay. He'd picked up the shield and kept Steve behind it. 

"Sam, go," he tried to say, but Sam didn't move.

"Don't even think it," said Sam, but Steve couldn't tell if he was speaking to him or to the masked man who was laughing again.

Suddenly, two men were shot dead, a bullet hole in the center of their forehead or throat. The others ran for cover. Another bullet zinged by, hitting the masked man on his armored chest, sending him reeling but he didn't go down. In unison, Sam and the masked man spun around, figuring out where the shots had come from. Sniper, northeast corner of the tallest building.

With an inhuman cry, Steve yanked the device off, breaking it in half, throwing it away. It clattered on the ground, dead. Gasping for breath, Steve looked at Sam and then at the masked man, then back to the building. 

"We got him now, Cap," said the masked man before yelling orders to surround the building. He bellowed a laugh, arms raised in triumph. The mask was unmoving and Steve finally got a good look at it: a white skull-like impression, a slit for the eyes. Although there was no way to tell, Steve knew the man was smiling.

"Sam," said Steve, keeping his eyes on the mask. "You have to go to Bucky. You have to get to him first."

"I can't leave you," said Sam, helping Steve to stand. 

"Give me your phone. Go! Do it, Sam, go. " He took Sam's phone and picked up his shield and a gun, preparing to give Sam cover.

"You heard the Captain," mocked the man in the mask.

He caught a look at Sam's angered, anguished face as he took to the air, heading straight for where the sniper shots had came from, spinning to dodge gunfire from the ground. Steve fired his weapon, laying down cover fire until Sam was safe, then he turned to face the man in the mask.

"Rumlow," he said. 

Rumlow chuckled. "Took you long enough."

"What do you want with Bucky?"

"He's an asset. Who wouldn't want him?" 

Shaking off the remaining tremors, Steve gripped his shield. Rumlow had to be working for someone. He wasn't the type to set up on his own. 

"Well you can't have him." He gripped Sam's phone. It had taken months, but he'd learned the trick of texting with one hand. 

"We'll see about that."

Several men formed a line in front of the building, hoisting grenade launchers onto their shoulders. One by one they fired, setting off explosions. The ground shook, the building shuddered, catching on fire. More grenades were launched. 

Steve ran forward behind his shield as Rumlow shot at him, coming close enough to punch Rumlow in his mask. Steve sent the shield flying in an arc, mowing down several of Rumlow's men. But there were too many, and they kept bombarding the building until it began to collapse.

Steve knew Rumlow's fighting style, but Rumlow knew his as well, and he'd somehow gotten stronger. Steve ripped off the mask, revealing scars over Rumlow's face. 

The distant sound of Sam yelling distracted him. Steve saw Sam swerve away from a rocket, causing him to lose his hold on Bucky. There was a cry of fright.

Rumlow saw his opening and got Steve in a stranglehold with enough leverage that he couldn't easily break out of. Steve gasped for air and watched Sam dodge gunfire, catching Bucky just before they hit the ground. Rumlow's men captured Sam, dragging him off, holding a gun to his head. 

Bucky fought back and no one could touch him. But then Rumlow yelled, "Soldier!" and Bucky froze solid. 

The fighting stopped. No one moved. 

Steve hadn't seen Bucky since that day in Buffalo, and before then, not since the helicarrier. He was scruffy and pale, incongruous in dark jeans and a black Iron Man short-sleeved T-shirt -- too underdressed for this time of year. His metal arm gleamed in the starlight.

Bucky was looking at Rumlow, his face unmoving. He wasn't looking at Steve.

"Come with us, and we'll let the good Captain go," said Rumlow.

Bucky pulled a stiletto knife from somewhere, lifting it to his throat, the point denting his skin. On instinct, Steve struggled against Rumlow's hold. "Bucky, no."

"Settle down, Captain, or Wilson eats lead." Rumlow squeezed hard enough to give Steve a headache. "Come now, Soldier. You don't want to do that."

The men holding Sam forced him down to his knees, then all the way to lie flat on the ground. Sam was livid, but one of the men stepped on his face and his shoulder, and another one pointed a gun at his head.

Next to Steve, someone pressed a cold gun barrel at his temple. 

Bucky still hadn't looked at Steve or Sam, his eyes bright and hard, staring directly at Rumlow.

"You don't know what I want," said Bucky, his voice quiet, the point of the stiletto dripping blood.

"What's it going to be, huh, Soldier?"

Bucky's nostrils flared. Then he said, "You let them both go. Right now. Or I'm dead before you can say 'asshole'."

"No." Steve gritted his teeth, pulling hard against Rumlow's arm. "Don't do this." But he was suddenly let go, kicked in the back and pushed away. Sam scrambled up to his feet. 

Bucky finally looked at Steve, still so calm. He'd lowered the stiletto as soon as they'd been set free. He followed Steve with his eyes, herded by Rumlow's men pointing machine guns. 

Steve struggled: to breathe, to stand there and watch Bucky being taken away. He couldn't believe that he was letting this happen. Rumlow's men were loading up into three vans, walking Bucky to the middle one. 

He felt Sam step closer. "Sam?" It was a question, barely above a whisper.

"I'm here," said Sam in answer.

With his next breath, Steve ran as fast as he could, picking up his discarded shield, running straight for Rumlow who had turned and fired his weapon. Bucky threw the stiletto, killing the man on his left before breaking the neck of the man on his right. 

Steve tackled Rumlow to the ground but Rumlow rolled on top. They wrestled, until Rumlow was abruptly yanked away. Bucky's metal hand squeezed Rumlow's throat, flipping him over hard onto the asphalt. Bucky used his weight, crushing his elbow into Rumlow's neck. 

"Bucky," said Steve, struggling to rise. He saw that Sam was holding the rest of Rumlow's men at gunpoint. Steve took Bucky by the waist, pulling him off Rumlow's now-still body. "Bucky," he repeated. "Come on."

"Steve," said Bucky, sliding through Steve's hands to fall down to his knees. Steve picked him back up. "I surrender," he said just as a quinjet appeared in the night sky above them.

Steve held on to Bucky, and they both leaned against each other. "I accept your surrender."

END PART 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ballet video that Natasha shows Steve is this one: [Youth Waltz](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t0xvrzOHcRk&feature=youtu.be). 
> 
> There are several great lindy hop videos on you tube. [Here's one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=myJj0mNNe1Y&index=3&list=RDv9xxeWRxSbA). 
> 
> The _Coppelia pas de duet_ can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=obaQbEnba7Q).


	3. PART 3

**In the next moment**

The quinjet landed, wind blowing and engines whirring, several feet away. The hatch opened and a few agents poured out. Steve saw Natasha's red hair move in his direction, flanked by an agent on her left. No other Avengers had come with her. 

She looked around at the bodies lying on the ground and then over to the burning half-collapsed building. "I gotta ask, Rogers, does everything always have to end in explosions? Wait, don't answer that."

"Things escalated quickly." He felt his face heat up. She always did have a way of teasing him. 

"Right," she said with her customary half-smile. She eyed Bucky, who was eyeing her back. The agent, and Steve remembered that his name was Simpson, had his weapon pointed down, but Steve knew he was there in case they needed to subdue Bucky. 

He waited, tense, to see what Natasha would do, but she lifted her comm to her mouth and gave succinct orders for a standard clean up and the apprehending of the remaining hostiles. Behind her, two men bend down to lift Rumlow by the arms.

Before anyone could realize it, Rumlow twisted around, a knife in his hand, slashing at an agent's throat and then throwing the knife right at Natasha's head. Bucky, already in motion, blocked it with his arm. 

"Barnes!" yelled Rumlow, and Steve threw his shield but not before Rumlow took another small metal device from some hidden pocket and threw it at Bucky. It flew with unerring accuracy and latched itself onto Bucky's left arm. 

The shield knocked Rumlow out and he fell back down to the ground.

Bucky stared at his arm, brows furrowed, before looking up at Steve. Steve rushed to his side. Bucky was suddenly yelling, collapsing. Steve tried to pry the device loose, crying out as he felt a bolt of electricity jar up his arms, but the device had burrowed between the metal slats of Bucky's arm and he couldn't remove it.

Steve called for help, but he knew that no one but him could withstand the electric charge. The device sent a second bolt and Bucky arched in pain, screaming now. Somehow, he didn't pass out. 

"Steve!" It was Sam, yelling loud enough to get Steve's attention. "We've got to get him into the quinjet and back to headquarters. There's nothing we can do for him here."

How long could Bucky last? Steve tried to carry him, but it was almost impossible until Natasha came with a heavy rubber mat she'd torn from somewhere inside the jet. He wrapped it around Bucky, who was rigid with pain, and he and Sam carried him up the ramp.

The flight back to New York was a blur. Sam, wearing heavy rubber gloves bent over Bucky's arm, getting a good look at the device. He was speaking through comms to someone back at headquarters. Bucky, unable to move but unable to lie still, was screaming hoarsely, veins popping out of his neck. His right hand, when he could make it work, futilely hit and pulled at his left arm. 

Steve tried to keep him still, talking to him. "It's okay, Buck. We'll get this thing off you. It's going to be okay." But he could see from Sam's face that it didn't look good. "Can we, I don't know, cut it out? Can we short it?"

Sam shook his head. "Maybe, I don't know. This thing isn't just sending bolts of electricity. It's, like, targeting his nervous system. I think it was meant to work specifically on him."

Steve looked down at Bucky, who had his eyes open. There was blood all over his lips from where he'd bitten his tongue. Steve repurposed a CPR mask as a bite guard, pressing it into Bucky's mouth, but he wouldn't take it.

"Steve," said Bucky, voice almost unrecognizable. "They're trying to take me away again. But I remember. I remember, Steve. I remember you."

Another bolt of electricity arced through Bucky and Steve shoved the bite guard in, yelling along with Bucky, furious and helpless. He could tell the amps were increasing in intensity. 

They arrived at headquarters into a raucous of noise and confusion. The Vision and Wanda were there, joining Natasha as they followed agents dressed in thick rubber suits who carried Bucky into one of the medical bays. Steve stayed by his side, watching Doctor Cho examine the device and Bucky's arm. She took readings. Normally, her calm, kind nature was quite soothing, but Steve could see the crease of concern between her eyes. 

"Tell me we can take that thing off," he said.

"It looks like the device is meant to work in conjunction with the arm," she said. "Without knowing how the arm is linked to his neural net, I can't know for certain." She looked closely at a computer screen where a projection of Bucky's arm was displayed, increasing the view, spinning it around. 

Another bolt surged through Bucky. He couldn't scream anymore, arching off the table, fingers, arms, and legs, rigid and flexed until he collapsed, mouth opening and closing around the bite guard. He was trying to speak, mumbling, "I remember, I remember."

"Doctor. Helen," said Steve, desperate. 

She turned to look at him, the screen showing what happened to Bucky when the device emitted its bolt of electricity. "It has, well, tendrils. It's burrowed through the arm all the way up to the shoulder. We could remove it. We'd have to remove the entire arm. But he would likely die shortly after."

Steve dropped his head, squeezed shut his eyes. "There's nothing you can do?"

"It's the way the arm works," she said. "It's not the same as losing a flesh and blood limb. In order for Mr. Barnes to have full mobility of the arm the way he does, to move it as if it were a part of him, it's woven into his nervous system, into his spinal column, directly into his brain. He wasn't meant to survive its removal."

"There has to be something." He received only silence as an answer. 

Bucky was moving, anticipating another bolt from the device, saying Steve's name over and over again, begging. Steve looked at the doctor, then at Sam who had tears in his eyes, at Natasha, at Wanda. He looked at the other agents in the room, at the other techs in their lab coats. Even Selvig was there. They all looked stricken. They all stared at him, mutely.

Then the Vision stepped forward. Bucky was conscious, watching the Vision with wide eyes, braced for impact. 

"Step back, please," said the Vision.

Steve hesitated. "What are you going to do?"

The Vision turned to him, but didn't answer. Steve let go and stepped back. The Vision touched Bucky once on his forehead and Bucky finally fell unconscious, his body and limbs relaxing all at once. 

Steve moved, but Sam caught him by the shoulders, held him back. The Vision's cape flowed behind him, the golden energy beam shooting from the mind stone. The beam was narrow, concentrated, falling directly on Bucky's arm. It seemed to cycle through different strengths. Bucky's body rose in the air and was turned on its side.

There was a noise, a high-pitched vibration, a growing intensity, until the device retracted its tentacles, seemed to make a whine as it died, then popped off and fell to the ground with a clatter. A couple of techs wearing protective gear scooped it up. The Vision passed his hand over the damage done by the device; the metal knitted itself, parts of it turning a red-purple to match the Vision. The beam gently laid Bucky back down on the medical bay. 

As the beam ended, the Vision stumbled and Wanda stepped forward to support him. Bucky was unconscious, the metal arm patched with the red and gray metal.

"Doctor," said the Vision, turning to Doctor Cho who was staring as dumbfounded as the rest of them. "The cradle, I think. He will need the cradle."

"Oh, yes," she said at once, and she and the other med techs moved into action. Bucky was transferred efficiently into the newly rebuilt regeneration cradle, the door sliding shut. The room thinned of personnel, Natasha ordering everyone out, but Sam remained, as did Wanda and the Vision.

Steve, snapping out of his momentary paralysis, remembered that he could breathe. He hardly dared to believe the horror was over, that Bucky was still alive. "I…" he started. "Thank you," he said to the Vision. 

The Vision, who liked to smile (and sometimes it even looked natural on him), smiled. He put a hand on Steve's shoulder. "Peace, Captain." 

Steve felt a near violent release of tension. He was shaking as he gripped the Vision's arm in return. "Is he going to be okay?"

"I cannot say for certain. The human system is both delicate and marvelous. But he is alive, that is the main thing. The arm should function as before, unless there is further damage that I cannot see. It's a matter of will and desire as much as it has to do with neurons, bone, and metal. The cradle should help."

"And, you?" asked Sam, from Steve's other side. "What did this cost you?" 

"I am not materially affected," answered the Vision, although it was obvious that what he'd done had drained him, at least momentarily. 

Steve and Wanda and Sam all shared a look. The Vision was still such a mystery. 

Wanda turned to the cradle. "He sleeps," she said, and, making sure the Vision could stand on his own, moved closer to the cradle. "Dreamless," she added, with her hand passing over the cradle.

"It's not…" Steve could see Bucky through glass, lying still, looking peaceful. "His arm won't have a separate awareness, will it? I mean, it's not going take over his body or have a mind of its own, is it?" 

He was a little embarrassed asking the question, but he was honestly worried about that since Ultron.

The Vision looked curiously at Steve. "You are a man who doesn't often repeat past mistakes, Captain."

"I don't know about that," said Steve. "At this point, though, not much can surprise me."

"I wouldn't test that theory if I were you," said the Vision, with a decidedly JARVIS-like tone. "However, there is no artificial intelligence in the arm. Or in that device. It was receiving instructions, however."

Steve felt cold and hot at the same time. With a glance, he made sure Doctor Cho had heard so it could be relayed to the techs. Suddenly the cumulative weight of the night's events bore down on his shoulders and he put a hand on the cradle. "Thank you."

Sam took hold of Steve's bicep, waving Doctor Cho over. 

"I'm fine," Steve said. 

"I know you are," said Sam, and Steve wanted to laugh and then wanted to cry. "Come on, big man. Let the good doctor take a look at you. You took almost as much from that thing as Barnes did."

Steve wanted to argue, and irrationally did not want to leave Bucky's side. He was afraid if he took his eyes off him he'd disappear again. 

"I can make it an order," said Doctor Cho with a smile. He liked Helen Cho. She was lovely, and terrifyingly brilliant, and easily one of the few people who could order him around. "At least sit."

He nodded, and found himself pressed into a chair positioned near the cradle, an IV infusion pumping some kind of restorative cocktail into his veins. He'd removed his jacket and ruined shirt -- they both had big burn marks from the device Rumlow had used on him -- and sat bare-chested.

The thought of Rumlow gave him a surge of adrenaline. "Is Natasha…"

"She's coordinating with Simpson back in Toronto. She's handling it," said Sam, tucking a blanket around his shoulders.

Steve nodded. "Rumlow is going to be a problem."

"Yeah, well, it's out of your hands for now." 

Sam looked tired as hell, sporting a few bruises and cuts that someone had treated. Steve felt immensely guilty but swallowed down his gut response of begging forgiveness. The Vision and Wanda were gone, Steve realized. He'd missed their departure. Everyone else but a few techs was gone, but Sam was still there. "You should get some rest, Sam. I'm okay."

"I will," said Sam. "If you promise me one thing."

"What is it?"

Sam leaned in and pressed his lips against Steve's temple. Steve pulled Sam even closer, burying his face into the crook of his neck. Sam didn't say what it was he wanted Steve to promise, and Steve guessed he had to figure that out on his own.

 

**1944 -- 15 miles east of the Austrian-Swiss border**

Steve woke when Bucky kicked and then elbowed him in the ribs. "Ow, Buck."

He elbowed back, but Bucky was sleeping, though fitfully. Fully awake, Steve raised his head and listened, not hearing anything above the breeze rattling a chain somewhere and the different sleep noises of the rest of the Commandos camped out in the other stalls. There were a few additional unfamiliar noises, and Steve knew they came from the refugees they were escorting to Switzerland. He spied one of Gabe's legs swinging from the loft, perched up high, on lookout through the window. By the light streaming in, Steve judged it was getting on close to late afternoon. There were still a few hours before sunset, when they'd have to get up and get ready to move out. 

The barn that was their home for that day, and the nearby farmhouse, had both been burned and left abandoned, but the barn still had most of its roof and walls intact. When they'd first approached the farm that morning they'd found the body of an elderly man lying near the front of the house, one bullet hole in his forehead and the Star of David painted on the front door. Morita said he'd been dead for weeks. Without Steve having to give the order, Falsworth and Dugan dug a hole and buried what was left of the body, and they'd all stood around the grave in silence for a few minutes. If there had been others in residence, it wasn't immediately apparent. 

Restricted to traveling by night, they were grateful for the shelter of the barn, grouped in twos and threes in the empty stalls. It was itchy, lying on stable blankets over straw, everything smelling strongly of cat, horse, and mildew, but at least there was something of a breeze. The temperature climbed higher as they moved into July, and Steve had shucked half way out of his uniform, the top part bunched around his waist, leaving him lying in his undershirt. 

Bucky, also undressed to his waist, had rolled close to Steve, restless, murmuring in his sleep. Steve was about to wake him, but then thought better of it. 

Since they'd left Vienna, and maybe even before, Bucky had been out of sorts and moody, and whole days could go by with neither of them talking much to each other. Steve let Bucky sort out whatever was bothering him. So much was different now between them. 

He was drifting back to sleep but Bucky kept moving, and then Steve felt his hard erection rub against him. Nothing much of privacy remained between any of the Commandos, and certainly not between Steve and Bucky who'd never had much privacy between them to begin with. It was still embarrassing. 

"Bucky," he whispered, shaking Bucky's arm. 

Bucky pushed in, sweaty and damp. He seemed more in distress than aroused. Steve said his name again. 

Somewhere close by, Dugan's wheezy snores started up and then stopped -- someone, probably Dernier, kicked him to turn over. Then silence again. 

Steve could feel the moment Bucky woke fully. He froze, then pushed away, scrambling back. "Steve--Christ. I'm…" 

"It's all right," Steve said, quickly. "It's okay."

Bucky had beads of sweat dotting his forehead and his upper lip, braced for a punch or a kick or maybe just anger.

He petted Bucky and squeezed his shoulder. "I'm not mad. I don't care. It's just you and me, here."

Bucky looked at Steve with an edge of dread, laughing nervously. "What? You like it, huh? That place in Vienna do it for you? Didn't know you bent that way." 

Steve gave Bucky one hard shake. "That's uncalled for."

Bucky's face held a flash of panic, then he crumpled, resting against Steve's sternum. "I'm sorry." 

Steve pulled him in close. "What's going on?" 

Buck didn't answer, tense within Steve's arms, pressing his damp face into Steve's neck. Steve sighed, rubbing Bucky's back, trying to comfort him. 

"Bad dream?" Steve asked.

"If it were just bad dreams," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind, Steve." Bucky sounded weary.

Steve bit back a frustrated complaint. "You can tell me."

After a long moment of Bucky breathing wetly against Steve's undershirt, he shifted a little. "It's like… being underwater. Or like one of your asthma attacks, like I can't breathe, everything is gone, everything I know is gone. I'm gone. I wake up in a panic. I don't know. It doesn't make any sense. A nightmare, yeah, sure, we all have those. After you got me out of that hellhole, every night for a month whenever I closed my eyes I saw… Schmidt pulling that mask off. Every time I saw the color red I jumped out of my skin. If it were only nightmares, Steve. Nightmares I can deal with."

Steve thought of what he could say, but there wasn't anything, so he just went back to holding Bucky close. He felt Bucky's erection press against him again, and then Bucky's lips on his neck, his lips on his mouth. Steve pulled back a little and Bucky kissed him, warm and wet and open. Steve felt a surge of lust but then pushed Bucky away. "No, wait. Buck--"

Bucky recoiled, flushed red. "I'm sorry. You don't want--I don't know what I'm doing. Forget this, just forget me. I'm--"

"Wait, Buck." Steve didn't let him back away. "Look at me. Will you look at me? It's not that I don't want to."

Bucky gave him an incredulous look.

"It's not," he repeated, cupping Bucky's face, a thumb on Bucky's red lips. He didn't know how to say it. How to say that he did want this -- his heart sped up at just the thought -- but it wasn't right, either. Not here, not like this. Steve was Bucky's commanding officer. Bucky was upset, and not in a good place. And neither was Steve, to be honest. He shied away from even thinking of Peggy. And they weren't alone. He could still hear Dugan's snores, a reminder that the rest of the team was just a few feet away.

Bucky was his best friend; he lived in his heart already. They'd known each other since they were kids. It felt like a sacrilege, like a betrayal of some kind. But he couldn't live with Bucky believing he would choose to forget any part of this. He couldn't live with Bucky believing he didn't love all of him.

"Bucky," he said, pressing their foreheads together. They were both hard, breathing in the scent of their bodies mixed with the sweet straw all around. 

Steve pressed his lips to the corner of Bucky's mouth, then his chin, grazing the days old stubble scratching against Steve's tongue as he kissed Bucky's neck. Bucky watched him, his eyes near black, rimmed with blue, and raised a hand to lightly touched Steve's eyebrow, the line of his nose, his lower lip, as if memorizing him. 

He licked at Bucky's finger. Bucky's expression changed from hesitancy and confusion to a hard, urgent ache. He whimpered slightly.

Steve wanted to kiss more but Bucky fumbled with Steve's uniform bunched around his waist, trying to push it down. "Let me," whispered Steve. "Wait."

Their fingers tangled as Steve released the fastenings, the zipper making a short, harsh complaint that reminded him sharply of the need for silence. Bucky didn't seem to notice, or maybe he didn't care, moving down. Steve's vision went white and he bit his tongue as Bucky took him in his mouth.

Steve thrust up into the wet heat, trying to control his breathing. Bucky swirled his tongue around the head, then let it fall away, looking at Steve's cock curiously. He glanced up and met Steve's eyes. 

"You take this body out for a spin yet, Stevie?"

Steve was trying to remember how to form words and sentences, but something on his face must have given him away, because a slow grin spread across Bucky's face. 

"You have, you jerk," he said, and there he was again, the Bucky Steve had known before the war, always ready with a wisecrack and an easy smile. 

Steve reached down and touched Bucky's wet lower lip. "On tour, yeah," he said.

Bucky nodded, affection in his eyes mixed with a bit of sadness. Then, mischievously, he asked, "They do this to you?" and took Steve back into his mouth.

Steve breathed out through his nose, surging forward, trying to be gentle, but Bucky was sucking hard, red lips stretched around the girth of Steve's cock. Steve gripped Bucky's hair in warning just as he came, watching Bucky's throat move as he swallowed.

He collapsed back onto the stable rug, heart rate returning to normal. "No," he said. "You're the first to do that."

Bucky smirked, lying on his side next to Steve. It was on the tip of Steve's tongue to ask if _he_ were Bucky's first, but he didn't. Instead, he wanted to return the favor, searching for the buttons of Bucky's uniform pants. But Bucky stopped him.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I don't want that from you."

Steve was a little disappointed, but he didn't protest. Bucky was mercurial and strange and Steve was happy to do whatever he might want, whatever they could. "What do you want?"

Bucky shook his head. "I'm okay. I don't want anything."

Steve rose up on an elbow, turning Bucky's head so he could look at him. Bucky's expression was open and vulnerable and hungry, and for an instant it was there, heavy and thick between them, the words: _I want you to fuck me._

It made his dick hard again, and for one wild moment he seriously considered it, stripping Bucky naked and turning him over, burying himself deep. Then reality returned: where they were, the danger they were in, their friends so close.

Bucky rolled in close, burying his face into Steve's chest again. "No, I don't want that either. I don't," he insisted. "I don't know what I want." He gripped Steve's undershirt, making the fabric stretch. 

Steve gently pulled Bucky away so he could look at him. He didn't know what was going on inside Bucky's head, the mixed signals, the confusion. He only wanted to help, but was afraid of making things worse. 

"That's okay," he said. "Close your eyes." 

Bucky sighed but did as requested. Steve lightly pressed against Bucky's crotch. "Is this okay?" he asked. 

Bucky nodded, face still buried against Steve's neck and sternum. 

He unfastened Bucky's trousers and slipped his hand inside. Bucky breathed a little harder. 

"Tell me if you don't want this, Buck."

Bucky had opened his mouth, licking and kissing at Steve's neck. "Can I," he started, then stopped. Steve felt him swallow. "Can I touch you again?"

Steve's cock twitched. "Yeah," he whispered. 

Bucky took Steve's cock in his hand, and they both clutched at each other, foreheads pressing, mouths open, working each other in an out of sync. Bucky came first, Steve right after, spilling over their fingers. 

They lay still, catching their breaths. Bucky wiped their hands with the stable blanket. It wasn't time to get up yet -- they had another twenty minutes or so of daylight left -- so Steve pulled Bucky back down beside him, and they slept. 

When Steve woke, he was alone in the stall. The light had fallen to dusk, the dying sun catching dusty motes floating all around. He could hear his team rousing and smelled coffee. He pulled his suit all the way on, doing up the fastenings by rote.

In the small courtyard outside, he found Jones and Falsworth puttering around, going through their packs. Morita was checking over the radio, headset pressed against his ear, fiddling with dials. They gave him a lazy salute, which he returned. The refugees were huddled together by the small fire. Steve went around the side of the barn and found Bucky sitting with a cup of coffee and munching on some rations, laughing at Dernier giving Dugan a hard time by hiding his bowler hat -- a common game between them. 

"Why you weaselly little Frog, give it here," griped Dugan.

Dernier was too quick for Dugan. 

Steve was arrested at the sight of Bucky smiling and laughing. Bucky looked up at him and then pointed at Dugan. "Sit on him, Dum Dum. Come on."

"You shouldn't encourage them," said Steve, but he was smiling, too. 

He sat next to Bucky, trying to read how he should act. How was it going to be between them now? He'd do whatever Bucky wanted, even if it was to pretend it never happened. 

Bucky handed him his cup of coffee. "Thanks," said Steve. "But I can get my own."

"Nah," said Bucky. "Finish mine."

Steve took a sip, grimaced, then swallowed. He would have spit it out, but that would have been a waste. "Yech, that's awful."

"Yeah," said Buck, with a wicked laugh. "I know."

Steve frowned at him, but he couldn't hold it. "You okay?" he asked quietly.

Bucky gave him a quizzical look. "Why wouldn't I be?" 

There was a quiet contraction in Steve's chest, a soft painful clenching around his heart, all the more tender because he couldn't untangle his relief from regret. "No reason," he said, staring down at the dark liquid in the mug. 

"Hey," said Bucky throwing his arm around Steve's shoulders the way he used to do when Steve was smaller. "It's a new day. Well, okay, it's a new night."

Bucky squeezed Steve close, gave him a shake, and Steve knocked heads with him. 

"You two telling secrets or something?" asked Dugan, triumphantly putting his hat back on his head, sitting heavily beside them. 

"Yeah. Here," said Steve, not looking at Bucky. "Have some coffee." 

They jumped out of the way when Dugan spit the coffee out. 

 

**Late in the morning, the next day**

The first thing the Soldier noticed when he woke was the lack of pain. The second thing he noticed was Steve Rogers standing by the window.

The rest of the room came into focus: the door, the other furniture, white ceiling, recessed lighting. There was some attempt to make the room inviting, with artwork on the walls, a colorful rug. It had a modern feel. He noted the electronic lock on the door. He couldn't see any cameras or listening devices, but assumed they must be there.

"Was I dreaming, or did a tall purple man with a cape save my life?" Steve startled at the sound of his rough voice. His throat hurt and he tried to swallow. "Or was he red? What color was he? Yellow?"

"All of those," said Steve, sitting on a chair by the bed. "That was The Vision. He's uh… he's different."

"You don't say." He started to sit up, then stopped when he looked down at his left arm. He tried to raise it off the bed. It took a moment for the arm to obey. He bent it at the elbow, turned it. The arm was different than before. It felt different. He noted where it had been damaged, the reddish-gray of some kind of new metal patched in, making a pattern. He closed his hand in a fist; the mechanism inside whirred, clicked. 

"How are you feeling?" asked Steve.

"I thought I'd lose the arm." He said it neutrally. He said it in a way that was neither for nor against the loss of the arm. He said it like it was okay that he still had the arm.

"They couldn't remove it. Not without killing you."

Steve was upset. He observed the ways Steve was upset: Steve lowered his eyes, he wrinkled his brow, he fidgeted in his seat. 

"I'm still here." 

Steve gave him a little smile, his blue eyes not as sad as the moment before. "Yeah," said Steve, then he hesitated. "You said you remembered. Do you still?"

The question made adrenaline pulse through his veins. Did he remember? He looked up at the ceiling, a great big blank canvas expanding in his mind -- freezing cold, endless, nothing. 

He began with the memory of a moment ago -- Steve looking at him from the chair by the bed. He flipped through memories, pausing briefly on images -- Steve in his Captain America uniform, bleeding. Steve falling. The different types of weapons he held in his hands. The pressure of the mask on his face. The pain of his left arm, the pull of it, the way it anchored into his brain. 

He remembered each kill. He remembered the reason for each kill. 

He remembered Pierce. Zola. He remembered all their names.

He skipped over the memories where he was screaming. Where he woke up and choked a man to death with his metal hand. Where he couldn't pull the arm out of its socket. 

He remembered falling. He remembered the train. 

_I had him on the ropes.  
I know you did. _

And then before that, Steve by his side, and others, his friends, and the war. He paused on a memory of Steve and him in a burned out barn in western Austria. 

And there was Zola, again. 

Then he remembered other intimate moments -- not with Steve but with women, mostly. The memories slowed as they got older until he remembered little Steve Roger's bruised and dirty face in a back alley in Brooklyn, New York, and him going down on his knees, surrendering to that little punk because he liked him.

He turned to look at Steve. "I remember."

Steve closed his eyes, then he nodded. "How? When?"

He shook his head, unable to answer that. "I don't know. Sometimes--" He swallowed. "Sometimes, after I sleep, when I wake up, it's all gone. Doesn't come back for a day, or more. Sometimes it's all there." He doesn't say how, when that happens, when he wakes up empty, he's more scared than he has ever been in his life. 

Steve watched him, the furrow between his eyebrows deepening, then turned to the bedside table and poured a glass of water. "Your throat hurts. This might help."

He considered the glass of water, deciding which hand should reach for it. He had to concentrate. His left hand was slow but it closed around the glass and raised it to his lips. The water was cool. It did help a little. 

He knew very well that Steve had a question. It was sitting on Steve's lips, unasked. He could tell by the way Steve shifted in his chair. He was pretty sure he knew what the question was. 

"Do you remember," he said, and Steve's attention focused on him like a laser beam. "That time when we were kids--fourteen? I was fourteen. And we got in a fight and didn't speak to each other for weeks?"

"Three weeks, four days," said Steve.

"Three weeks, four days. What did we fight about?"

It took Steve a moment to answer. Like he too had to dig through his memory. "Lois McClintock."

"That's right. You stole her from me."

"Aw, come on, Buck. How could I steal her -- steal anyone -- from you?"

"I caught you and her in that empty lot on State. She had her tongue down your throat and her hand down your pants."

It was fascinating how bright red Steve could turn over an eighty-year-old memory. "She cornered me. What was I supposed to do? You wouldn't let me apologize."

"I was too angry." He was too shocked, really, and embarrassed, and then mad at himself for being mad at Steve over a dame. He'd liked Lois but not enough to fight Steve of all people over her. Hadn't realized she was the type of girl that went around sticking her hand down boys' pants. And of all the ones she'd picked, it had to be Steve. "Thing was, I caught her doing the same thing the next day to some other kid who's name I can't remember. And I wanted to make it all right with you. But I didn't. The more time passed, the harder it got. I let it drag on for a long time."

"I went by your home every day," said Steve.

"I know." They looked at each other, and Steve, after a moment, nodded. "Of course," he said, finishing the story. "Then you had to get in a fight defending her. I couldn't believe it."

"She was nice. A little fast, maybe. It got you talking to me again."

"No, she wasn't nice."

Steve shrugged and smiled. It was a contemplative smile. "I guess not. But I didn't want to see her get hurt."

"No, you wouldn't. And I only started talking to you again out of outrage."

It was a poor apology for staying away so long, but it was all he had. He hoped Steve could forgive him. 

"Thank you, Bucky."

Bucky. Bucky remembered his name. Only Steve called him Bucky anymore. Kind of a dumb name, but it was his name all the same. It rang in his ears. "What are you thanking me for?"

"I don't know."

"You never did."

Steve grinned, and then they fell silent. 

The door to the room opened and Sam Wilson walked in. "Sorry to interrupt," he said. "But they're ready for him."

"It's okay," said Steve, then he turned to Bucky. "Just the doctors and the medical staff. They want to check you over."

"Hey, man," Sam said to him. "Good to see you." 

Bucky sat up, his arm clicking stiffly as he moved, placing his feet on the ground. Bare feet. He looked from Sam to Steve and back again, reading their body language -- the look they gave each other: a question that wasn't asked, an answer that wasn't given. There was much that was unsaid, bouncing between all three. They said: Easy. They said: But be careful. 

He glanced back at the open door of the room. There was no security that he could see, no guards, no obvious surveillance. Everything as non-threatening as it could possibly be. It made the back of his neck itch. 

He rose to standing. "I guess we better go."

**

After his physical examination, they relocated to a large conference room. One by one the room filled with occupants. He recognized most of them -- the other Avengers, a couple previous SHIELD agents. He could see no one he recognized as Hydra, but he was still on edge with so many in the room. Sam sat on Steve's other side, drinking from a water bottle. There was an empty seat next to him, which Bucky assumed was for Romanoff who was absent.

There was still no extra security.

Bucky took his cue from Steve, and from Sam, from their level of tension layered over with ease and familiarity. He noted the looks being passed around the room, the way some whispered to each other. His attention kept returning to the Vision. The Vision was something new and different and amazing to see.

"Is there anything you can tell us about this thing?" asked Maria Hill, indicating Rumlow's device now lying inert on the table. "Where it came from? Who designed it?"

The device looked harmless now, broken and bent out of shape. His hand flexed then closed again with a few clicks as he remembered the level of pain it had caused him. 

"Are we sure it's dead?" asked Steve, reaching past him to pick the device up himself. 

"As sure as we can be," said Hill.

They were all waiting for his response. Bucky made his left hand move and take the device from Steve. There was a delay from when he thought of the action to when the action occurred. The doctor had said the more he used the arm the quicker the synapses would heal. The metal of his hand clinked against the metal of the device: little tinny sounds. "I've never seen anything like this before. I… I don't think they ever used it on me. In the past."

He was not actually entirely sure about this. 

Agent Hill tapped on her console, and a three dimensional image of his torso and arm popped up in the center of the table, rotating. In the image, the device was still attached, and Bucky realized the readings must have been taken from the night before. "Doctor Cho, can you elaborate?" Hill asked. 

The doctor started speaking and Bucky listened with one part of his awareness, everything she said being stored for later analysis. He'd never seen his arm like this before, in such detail, on display. The image showed how metal grafted to bone, how electrical impulses translated to a neural interface, how it wired throughout his nervous system. 

He was aware of the questions being asked and answered, crossfire across the table, but he couldn't take his eyes off the image rotating. Steve said next to him, "Clearly this came from Hydra."

"We don't know that for sure," answered someone else. "I thought we were done with those guys."

The image also showed how the device disrupted the interface, how it had attempted to rewrite his system, how it was in effect the same as the chair they used to put him in, but less effective. _Then wipe him and start over._

"Maybe not them, but someone just like them. We know there was a power vacuum after Hydra fell apart. There are several factions, but--"

"Barnes needs to be debriefed," said Sam, speaking up for the first time. "He's got close to 70 years of intel in his head that could be useful, and right now we're being pulled in too many directions, stabbing in the dark. We've been doing it for a while. If there's no objections, I'll handle Barnes's debrief."

It looked like Agent Hill did have an objection but was interrupted before she could speak. Bucky lowered his eyes, and regulated his breathing. The image kept rotating.

"Perhaps," said the Vision. The others fell silent and the sound of the Vision's voice brought Bucky's eyes up off the tabletop. "Sergeant Barnes has an idea of who might be interested in capturing him?"

All eyes turned to him. He thought of what he could say. He had his suspicions, but from his point of view, he was an asset -- anyone with enough resources would be interested, including everyone sitting with him at the table, with the possible exception of Steve. And even there, although Steve would never say so, he might be wrong. It's just that he didn't mind so much if it were Steve. 

There was more than one group out there hunting him. 

"Bucky?" asked Steve.

He cleared his throat. "Rumlow would know," he said.

Just then, the door to the conference room slid open and Natasha Romanoff walked in. "Unfortunately," she said. "We no longer have Rumlow. Simpson failed to report in. I sent a tac team this morning and just received word. They found signs of an ambush outside of Toronto. No survivors. No sign of Rumlow."

A grave silence descended. Steve wilted at the news, visibly upset.

"Also," added Romanoff, in a quieter voice and seemingly primarily for Steve's benefit. "Stark's here."

Steve's expression shifted to one Bucky recognized as frustration overlaid with determination. He pushed back from the table and said, "Excuse me," before leaving the room. Both Sam and Romanoff followed. 

No one else even pretended not to watch through the glass walls as Steve intercepted Tony Stark, dressed in a suit and wearing sunglasses. Sam flanked Steve's right side, but Romanoff went for more of a direct angle between Steve and Stark. 

They were too far to be heard clearly, but Bucky read Stark's lips. _It's lovely to see you too. Can't a guy pop by for a visit? Do I need a reason?_

Stark couldn't move past Steve blocking his path, although he tried. Bucky watched Stark's facial expressions, he took in Stark's mannerisms. Stark was listening to whatever Steve said but with a small smile like a mask, which he dropped when he took off his sunglasses and used them to tap against Steve's chest.

_What did you expect? That no one would find out? That those a-holes wouldn't jump at this like you've just given them their biggest wet dream? This is exactly the kind of leverage they've been looking for. I'm not here to fight with you. All right? I'm just here to check things out. See what's going on. I'm here as a friend._

Steve, hands on his hips, shook his head. Sam said something Bucky couldn't catch, then Steve stepped aside to let Stark pass. Stark patted him on the shoulder as he did. 

Bucky wasn't surprised that his presence was causing a stir, nor was he surprised that a very real power struggle was the result. But there was a spark of regret in Stark's eyes when he saw how upset Steve was, and that told Bucky more about Stark than all the intel put together. 

Stark entered the conference room with Steve, Sam and Natasha behind him. "No, please," he said, gesturing to the room at large. "Don't everyone get up. Miss me? I missed you. Gang's all here. Well, mostly. Rhodey! You never call, you never write."

Rhodes gave him a look. "We had dinner together this past Monday."

"Oh, right. That was like a million years ago, Stark-time." He pulled out the seat Steve had previously occupied, eyeing the rotating image of Bucky's arm that was still floating in the center of the table. With a quick couple of hand gestures, Stark minimized the image down to a ball of light. 

 "Relax, everyone," said Stark even though no one had moved or seemed particularly anxious. "I'm just here to welcome the newest member of the family. Hi. Tony Stark."

Stark held out his hand for Bucky to shake. Bucky, keeping his peripheral awareness on the rest of the room and on Steve in particular, narrowed his focus onto the man in front of him. 

"No?" asked Stark, still holding out his hand, a tilt to his head. 

Stark revealed himself in little ways. In the flash of his too careful grin, in the glint of his questioning eyes. 

Bucky took his hand and shook it.

"See?" said Stark, sitting back, casual. "That wasn't too difficult. Everyone treating you all right? Had a chance to settle in? I see Vision's proved his usefulness once again." Stark nodded at Bucky's left arm. 

Bucky didn't respond but kept observing Stark. Stark swiveled in his chair, tossing the minimized image of Bucky's torso like it was a ball. 

"Heard it was a close one."

"Tony, is there a point to this?" asked Steve. He stood off to the side, leaning against the glass wall, Sam and Natasha next to him.

"Just making small talk," answered Stark without looking at Steve. "My father used to mention you." The room collectively held its breath. Even the Vision tensed, prepared for anything. "I don't know if you remember my father," added Stark.

"I remember," said Bucky, and Stark froze for just a second but then relaxed.

"Well, that's perfect," said Stark. "So you can dish on this one." And Stark pointed his thumb at Steve. "Finally. Do you know how hard it is to get him to talk? He's the original clam, I swear to God. Good. Because I have a ton of questions about Steve Rogers."

Despite himself, Bucky was amused. "What do you want know?"

"Well," said Stark, and he looked around the room as if expecting everyone to agree with him. "Naturally the most pressing questions is, is Steve Rogers a 97-year-old virgin?"

Sam, who happened to be taking a sip of water at that moment, choked and coughed. Natasha helpfully clapped him on his back. The others in the room relaxed. Rhodes groaned, and put his head in his hands.

"No," said Bucky, having not taken his attention off Stark.

Stark, frowning, narrowed his eyes at Bucky, then at Steve and Sam and Natasha, then around at the rest of the room. "What does everybody know that I don't? Clearly I've missed a memo or two. Well, that's me out a hundred bucks."

"Tony," said Steve with a much-practiced aggrieved sigh, twin points of color on each cheek. "You could have just asked."

Stark acknowledged this with a small nod at Steve. Bucky guessed this was all a smoke screen, and Stark wasn't really wondering about Steve's sex life. 

"Was he always this… insufferably good? I mean, even as a kid. He must have, I don't know, occasionally stolen something, cheated on a test, refused to eat his vegetables? Please don't tell me he spent all his time walking little old ladies across the street."

"You want to know if Steve was as good as the stories made him out to be?" 

"Yes, exactly. No one can be that perfect."

"He could."

Stark gave him an exasperated snort, but then he narrowed his gaze suspiciously. "He could, but he wasn't, was he? Come on, spill."

This Stark was different than the first Stark. They both masked their intelligence with a lot of flash, but Tony Stark outstripped his father in all things. Bucky didn't need to know Tony Stark's history to recognize this. He could see it in the way Stark easily played the room. 

"He was a punk," said Bucky. "And the stories were mostly stuff the big wigs in the war office cooked up, but that doesn't mean he wasn't perfect. You want to know something about Steve? The real Steve?"

Stark was riveted with interest. "By all means."

Buck could sense Steve's attention on him, as curious as everyone else was. "There was a girl in our neighborhood, when we were kids. Lily James."

Steve made a motion as if he were going to move or say something but then remained rigidly still.

"Sweet kid. She was… she had…" He searched for the right term.

"Down Syndrome," supplied Steve, quietly.

"Right," said Bucky. "Of course, most of us kids called her all sorts of rotten names without really meaning to. Her older brother Billy was the worst, could be real cruel. Steve was about the only one that treated her regular. She was kind of sweet on Steve, used to follow him around. He got teased a lot because of it, especially by Billy. Steve never once complained, and Lily, well, she was pretty tough herself. Was better in a fight than Steve was."

"Buck," said Steve, shaking his head.

"She was. She'd march up to her brother and kick him in the shins. And Billy, bully though he was, never laid a hand on his sister. But he had it in for Steve. He _hated_ Steve Rogers, because Steve showed him up this one time, and Billy made it his mission to jump Steve every chance he got. Steve always fought back. I had my hands full making sure Steve didn't get his neck broken. Then this one time, I was somewhere else, I don't know where, and Billy managed to get Steve alone in a back alley not two blocks from his apartment and proceeded to beat the snot out of him, when all of a sudden out of no where Lily came flying and tackled her brother. Billy was a big kid, and without meaning to, knocked her down and she hit her head. Didn't get back up. Steve ran for his ma, but there was nothing anyone could do. She died later that day. Steve took it hard. He felt real guilty, even though it was none of his doing. But Billy? Billy disappeared for a week, no one knew where he went to. 'Cept, he showed up one night at Steve's apartment when his ma wasn't home, showed up with a gun and put the gun in Steve's hand and made Steve point it at himself, begging Steve to pull the trigger. Steve was thirteen years old."

Bucky felt the collective attention of everyone in the room, but then slowly they all looked over at Steve.

"What did he do?" asked Stark.

"I didn't pull the trigger, Tony," said Steve.

"He talked to him. He talked to him all night long, for all the good it did. Billy got himself killed a couple years later in a knife fight. But after that night, he was Steve's friend. See, they had Lily in common, after all that."

There was a long beat of silence until Steve said, "Billy didn't know how to be any other way. They had a terrible home life. Mother was always saying… well, she said I should try being nicer to him. I didn't know you knew about that night. I never talked about it to anyone."

"Of course I knew," said Bucky, finally taking his eyes off Stark so he could look at Steve. "I know everything there is to know about you."

"Yeah, I guess you do," said Steve. His jaw tightened and he turned his head away.

It took a moment to realize what was happening. Sam looked as if he was in physical pain, automatically reaching for Steve but Romanoff stopped him and shook her head. Bucky saw a flash of anguish and regret darken Stark's eyes before he pushed away from the table and wordlessly indicated everyone should vacate the conference room, ushering a reluctant Sam out the door and leaving Bucky alone with Steve. 

He watched Steve struggle until he couldn't stand it anymore, rising from his seat. First with his metal hand, then with his right, he took Steve by the shoulders, pulled him in close.

Steve had held him during the ordeal with the device, and there was that fight on the helicarrier, but this was the first time Bucky willingly touched Steve since 1945 and the aching familiarity of it, the weight of him, was like a kick right in his gut. There was so much that was different, and so much that was the same. His arm changed things, and Steve seemed even more huge and solidly built than before, those big wide shoulders curved in as if he were trying to shrink back down to his skinny self. But in essence he felt the same. It opened a floodgate of sense memories, sharpening everything with sudden vivid clarity. It hurt, the way a limb that has gone to sleep can hurt, flaring hot and painful.

Bucky held the back of Steve's head. He was shy about his left arm, but Steve turned a little and laid his cheek against the metal of Bucky's shoulder, sighing. 

Steve snuffled as he pulled away. "Sorry," he said, looking around the room. "Where'd everyone go?"

"They're outside," said Bucky, pulling his sleeve down to use as a tissue for Steve's nose and wet face. "Guess they can't handle seeing a super-soldier cry. Bunch of cowards. How long you been holding that in?"

Steve laughed wetly, pressing his palms into his eyes. "I don't know. At least as long as I've been here."

Bucky privately thought it had been as long as when Steve's ma died, but he remained silent. 

"I'm not complaining," said Steve, his wet lashes dark against the pale of his skin. "You know, things happen the way they do. You fall from a train. I fly into the water. And somehow, here we are. But it was awful lonely, Buck. For a while there. It's better now."

"You always were a sentimental fool," said Bucky. 

Steve laughed, wiped at his eyes again, bowed his head. "I'm real glad you're here, Bucky," he said, in almost a whisper.

Bucky shook his head, untangling himself from Steve. "You've done all right without me."

"Because I had to." Steve looked pensive, studying him, and Bucky immediately felt like hiding. Those blue eyes saw right through him. "Bucky, this must all be so--I'm sorry about this," he looked around the room, indicating the entire building. "It wasn't the plan to--"

He cut himself off and Bucky was reminded that they were probably being recorded. 

Steve started again but Bucky shook his head. He knew what Steve was trying to get at. He chose his words carefully. "Those first few months after… I left you, in D.C. Those were hard. I think I might have been screaming for years and just never knew." 

A look of pain passed over Steve's face. "I'm sorry you went through that alone."

Bucky shrugged. "I'm not. I'm here now, anyway." He lowered his eyes and stepped away a little further. He tried to smile, but Steve was already on to him. He could never fool Steve for long. 

"Hey," said Steve, worried frown deepening the crease between his brows. He held his hands out. "Is this okay?" he asked before placing his hands on Bucky's arms.

Bucky nodded, and they stood like that, leaning against the wall, together. 

"There's a lot we can say to each other," said Steve. "Should say, I guess. I'm…" and he swallowed, his voice breaking. He shook his head. "I can't change what happened to you. And I guess I just have to live with that."

Now it was Bucky's turn to wipe at his eyes. "The main thing that got me through those months was knowing you were out there. It was all I could handle at the time. I'm just--" He let himself be pulled back into Steve's arms. "I was never that far. Even when I didn't know my name, or remember who you were, I was close by."

"I know."

They were quiet for several minutes, settling into the experience of being in each other's company again, when Stark knocked on the glass door and stuck his head in. 

"Is it safe to come in? Is the mushy stuff over?"

Steve sighed, giving Bucky a quick glance. "I think we're done here. Thanks for giving us privacy," he said.

Stark waved his hand in an expansive gesture. "Sure thing, Pops." He focused on Bucky. "Since all the pleasantries, and the crying and the weeping, are over now. I'd like a few minutes alone with Sergeant Barnes."

"Tony--" started Steve, but Bucky stopped him with a hand to his chest.

"It's okay, Steve. I don't mind."

Steve looked between the two, and bit back whatever he wanted to say. "All right. I'll be right outside."

Once Steve left, Stark indicated they should take a seat, pulling out a chair and waiting for Bucky to do the same. They sat as they had earlier, facing each other. 

"So, where were we? That's right. You were dishing out a touching story from the good old days. " Stark tapped on the table with his fingers, narrowed his eyes at Bucky. "I see you're going to be just as creepy as Romanoff with the whole Russian Master Assassin Death Stare of Doom. One of you will have to teach me how you do that."

Bucky didn't react, and contemplated briefly remaining silent, but then changed his mind. "You want to know about Howard."

Stark blinked, his hand stilled. Then he sat forward. "Actually," he said, reaching for the little ball of light that was still on the table. He expanded the image to mid-size, rotating it. "I'm here to discuss your arm."

Much to his own alarm, Bucky tensed.

"Would you say you're attached to it? Right, okay, that was in bad taste. I mean, clearly, you are physically attached. Quite well, I might add. Those Hydra scientists knew what they were about. But would you get rid of it, if you could? Would you prefer to live without the arm?"

Bucky took a moment before speaking. "I was told I wouldn't survive its removal."

"With Extremis you could," said Stark simply. 

Bucky's left arm, which he'd set on the table, felt like a solid anchor. "Extremis isn't stabilized."

Stark lifted his hand in a casual gesture. "I can stabilize it. I have stabilized it, successfully."

Bucky found his focus deteriorating. He realized he'd done more talking that morning than he'd done in probably the last 70 years, maybe even longer than that. His mouth was dry.   Stark leaned forward. "Tell you what," he said, pointing at Bucky. "You think about it."

He made as if he were going to stand, but stopped when Bucky asked, "Why?"

Stark studied him, then shrugged. "You're a smart man, Barnes. I know you know there's more going on here, and I'm sorry to say, you're probably going to be in the middle of it. But," and he paused. "I also know what it's like to live with a hatchet over your head, never knowing when it's going to drop. I thought I'd… at least make the offer. Might be a good thing. Might not be."

Stark minimized the holographic image back down into a ball, then closed it entirely. Bucky forced himself to remain still, staring at the spot where the image had disappeared. 

"Did you kill Howard? " Stark asked.

With effort, Bucky forced himself to focus on Stark. What he saw was like a double image, the father superimposed over the son. But when he'd known him, Howard Stark had been physically younger than Tony Stark was now -- and then so much older with a head of gray hair, that one last time. It created a disconnect, a faulty bridge between the two, so similar and yet so vastly different. 

Standing before him, Tony Stark was like a representative of all the victims that had died at the Soldier's hands throughout the years. 

"Yes." Bucky had no desire to deny it, but he hadn't expected the upsurge of horror that felt like he was choking.

Stark took a breath. "Do you remember it?"

Bucky nodded, his eyes cast down to the floor.

"Why then?" asked Stark, and his voice had gone rough and hollow. "He was in his 70s already. Why after so many years?"

Bucky grimaced. There was a pain in his head he ignored. He forced himself to meet Stark's eyes one more time, then he looked at Stark's chest, at where there was an absence of a circle of light. "Can't you guess?"

Stark was pensive, searching. He rubbed at his chest. "He used to joke he was a man of peace, not war. It made me laugh. It made Obadiah furious."

Bucky closed his eyes and put his metal arm over his head. He knew he should apologize but he had no idea how to even start. There was no apology for the Soldier's actions. They were fixed points in time, all of them. He was dimly aware that Stark had said something and that the door to the conference room had opened. He felt Steve's presence crouching next to him and heard him say, "Come on, Buck," and somehow Bucky was able to follow. 

 

**In the following days**

Sam checked over the equipment, adjusting the different settings. Several multi-colored versions of James Barnes -- heat readings, electrical readings, heart rate, a close up on his eyes, other vital statistics -- looked back at him from the screens. 

It had been something of a minor fight for Hill to okay Sam conducting the debriefing sessions when there were several individuals on staff with more training, but ultimately Steve overruled. 

The room was plain with gray walls. One wall had a large window with a view of a meadow and trees. It wasn't a real window or a real view. Sam guessed the old two-way mirrors were now obsolete. A view was thought to be more relaxing, although the artificial light set Sam's teeth on edge.

Sam gave Barnes a quick visual once-over. He was alert, sitting straight in his seat and dressed in casual workout clothes, with a leather glove on the metal hand -- had said it was necessary for proper grip. Barnes was staring at the window with a thoughtful, penetrating gaze. 

"Fancy," said Barnes, with a nod at the fake window.

Sam had to hide a smile. "Okay, are you ready for this?" he asked, making final adjustments.

"Ready as I'll ever be," said Barnes.

Sam began the recording but then stopped, some sixth sense telling him exactly where Steve Rogers was at that moment even though they had discussed this at length. Barnes was looking at him curiously. 

"One moment," he said to Barnes, then stuck a finger in his ear to turn on comms. "Are you in that room even though we agreed you wouldn't be? I know you're in there. Don't lie to me."

There was a heavy silence on the other end, then a quiet, "Sam, I--"

"Nuh-uh," said Sam, pushing away from the table, moving quickly to the fake window. He rapped on it with his knuckles, then made a thumb gesture indicating Steve should meet him out in the hallway. Everyone else on comms immediately broke out in a cacophony of complaints for his breaking the illusion of the fake window. "You all can keep it down," he said. "He already knew it was fake. He's not dumb."

He opened the door to the hallway and stood there until Steve exited the adjacent room, looking mutinous.

"Don't look at me like that. We discussed this."

"I just wanted to make sure--" Steve started, all kinds of conciliatory. 

"I know what you wanted. But I got this," he said, more gentle. Steve's expression was both betrayed and sheepish, turning the full force of his gaze on Sam. "Oh no. Don't you give me those baby blues. They ain't going to work, not today. Go on, get. We'll both meet you later. Sparring sessions all afternoon, just what the doctor ordered."

Sam pointed down the hall leading to the atrium, indicating the direction Steve had better be moving toward. Steve stubbornly stood there, looking past Sam's shoulder to the interior of the debriefing room. Sam watched Steve come to terms with the fact that Barnes didn't want him there any more than Sam did. 

"All right," said Steve, sighing. "I give up." He turned to go but then said, "Hey, Sam? Thanks." 

Steve took Sam by the elbow, locking forearms, and gave Sam a tight smile. Sam watched to make sure Steve kept moving before entering the room again and shutting the door.

Barnes was looking at him, an amused twist to his lips. "I like you, Sam," said Barnes.

"Yeah?" He sat back down and re-checked the equipment. "That's good. 'Cause I like you, too. What say we get this pony show on the road?"

**

She still thought of him as the Winter Soldier. 

Natasha watched his sparring sessions with Steve and Sam, sometimes through surveillance, sometimes as an observer inside the room. If Barnes knew Natasha was in the room, he would look at her once, then not look at her again. He was most relaxed with Sam, she noticed. With Steve, Barnes was too aware, as if every cell in his body listened with full attention. 

She asked the Vision and Wanda to take their turns, and said to Wanda, "Give him everything you got."

"No mind games," Steve interjected. "I mean it. Otherwise, let's see what the two of you can do."

Natasha didn't object. 

Barnes stood still as Wanda circled around him, the energy flowing from her hands, but when she struck, he moved easily out of the way. He was too fast for Wanda's powers, and recovered too easily. With his speed he came in close, using his arm as a shield. Natasha saw the half-second delay from the metal arm, but Barnes was still quick, and physically overpowering.

A blast of Wanda's power knocked him down but he spun to trip her flat on her back. He grabbed her hands, twisted her arms until she cried out. A wild pulse of magic flung him to the floor. He sprung up, dodged another pulse of red energy, coming around to lock her head in both his hands.

"In a real fight I would have snapped your neck before you realized it," he said.

Wanda's nostrils flared, and she flicked her hands, a whip of magic hitting Barnes in the face. He cried out, wincing, but didn't let go. Instead, he turned her around to stare directly into her eyes until, with fear, she pushed at him to let go. They were both grimacing in pain as they staggered apart.

"I said no mind games," said Steve, stepping in beside Barnes. 

Natasha helped Wanda to stand. "I didn't," said Wanda, shaking her head, her forehead creased as she looked at Barnes. Her eyes pulsed red then returned to normal. "He shields his mind. I can't read him anyway."

Steve frowned at both of them. "I think that's enough for now."

The next day, Barnes refused to fight the Vision. 

"I will if I have to. If you make me. But I'd rather not."

"Buck, it's only for practice. Just to get you moving your arm."

Barnes shook his head. "I'll fight any one of the rest of you. Whoever else you want me to," he said. 

Steve put his hands on his waist, and Natasha recognized the stubborn look he had. Barnes was equally unmoving, and she started to laugh at the near perfect image she got of what they must have been like as boys.

"It does seem," said the Vision, who was standing near the other two, patient as always. "Like rather a waste of time. But I find there is some value in the knowledge gained of one's friends and foes."

Barnes was hesitant to look at the Vision. "You're asking me to fight you?"

The Vision's facial expression changed in slight, minute ways. "No," he said, and Barnes physically relaxed. "May I?"

He was holding out his hand toward Barnes's left arm. With a slight furrowed-brow look of confusion, Barnes raised his arm for the Vision to inspect. The Vision took the arm delicately, one hand passing over it from shoulder to elbow to wrist, slowly. 

Barnes's face crumpled, and he went down to his knees. Steve rushed forward, as did Sam, and Natasha held her breath, but the Vision bent lower and put a hand to Bucky's chin. "Please stand, Sergeant Barnes."

Barnes rose to his feet, head bowed. 

"Perhaps a walk would serve us better," he said, and he and Barnes left together, retreating to the grounds and not returning for several hours. 

On the third day, Natasha asked Steve to let her have the afternoon session with Barnes. 

Steve hesitated and then frowned. "What are you planning to do?"

Except for a slight teasing smile, she kept her expression neutral. "Don't you trust me?"

Part of her expected Steve to immediately deny it but he had a habit of continually surprising her. He narrowed his eyes. "I trust you every other Thursday. And on Saturdays."

It happened to be Saturday. She laughed, and punched him in the shoulder. "I don't know if I like Smart Aleck Steve Rogers much."

He gave her a lazy smile, then surprised her with a hug. She let him hug her. She liked his hugs. She liked them a lot, and turned her face to press against his neck, the sense-memory of their two brief nights together hovering just under the surface. 

"Go easy on him," he said when he let her go. 

She made no promises.

She watched Barnes on the surveillance feed as he waited in the larger sparring studio. On his own, he ambled around the room dressed in sweats and a fitted sleeveless top, inspecting some of the equipment, metal arm gleaming. She noted the continued delay of movement from the arm. It had improved a great deal since the first day. He hadn't shown much concern about it, which she found curious.

With his back to her, she dropped into the room, breathing to his same rhythm. She slipped in between moments. There was a space of one heartbeat before he tensed then turned. They stood facing each other.

"Half strength," she said, and then went in for a feint to his right side, pivoting around to his left leg.

He blocked her kick, attacking with half his strength. They traveled around the room, move and countermove. His face held a mask of concentration and calculation and she pushed him for more. She spun, climbing his body to flip around, slipped between his legs only to be met with his knee coming down hard. She rolled out of the way. 

The metal arm flashed in and out of her awareness, a small corner of her mind admiring how he worked with the delay instead of against it. But despite the metal arm's physical strength it was still his weak point, and she concentrated on his left side. The arm increased its speed and it caught her around the waist, threw her across the room -- still at only half his strength. He charged, and as he bore his weight against her, she used his speed to slam him down to the floor. He was on her in a second, trapping her body caged between his legs.

They stared at each other. His hair fell and tickled her face, his eyes searching hers. With his right hand he pressed against her abdomen, over the bullet wound scar. She had wondered if he remembered.

She smiled, and then in the next moment twisted to slam her elbow up into his neck. He swerved away and she shimmied out, thighs locking around his head until he reached with his left arm and tossed her to the side. 

They rolled up to standing, both measuring their breathing. She was aware that they were no longer alone -- Steve had entered the studio some time ago, and now Sam was there, watching. 

"Full strength," she said.

Barnes's eyes widened. He met her attack still at half-strength. She took hold of the metal arm, using it to swing around onto his back, locking her arm under his chin. "Full strength," she repeated, this time in Russian. 

He growled and flipped her over. They flowed around each other. She'd learned enough to use his strength as her own, to bend with him, to move into his rotation. He outmatched her in every way and she let him, with only their height difference as an advantage. He was fast, and getting faster as the delay in his left arm disappeared. He caught her, front to back, and held her pressed against his chest, left hand wrapped around her neck. 

"Done," he said, he asked. He was asking her. 

She slackened in his arms. He remained rigid, too smart to loosen his hold, but that didn't stop her from reaching back to grab his neck, swinging her legs up and then down with all her strength, hard enough to flip him over onto his back. 

He lay stunned and she fell to her knees next to him. "Done," she gasped out, collapsing. 

She heard soft footsteps approaching and turned to see Steve holding out a hand to help her stand. Sam was doing the same for Barnes.

"I'm gonna call that a draw," said Steve, keeping his hand on her as she cracked her neck and brushed her hair back into place. 

They stood, the four together. Barnes was looking down at the metal arm, making a fist, then opening the palm, then making a fist again. He met her gaze, and she saw a wash of emotion darken his face.

"Hey," she said, reaching for his right hand and putting it back against her stomach, over the gunshot wound. "I don't forget. And you shouldn't either."

After a moment he nodded, eyes softening.

"Well," said Steve, hands clapping together. "Ready for a second round?"

 

**

Steve paused outside of Sam's quarters, battling his instinct to return to his room. It was past ten at night, and he knew Sam had early morning patrol the next day. But he knocked on Sam's door anyway. 

It took a moment, but Sam opened his door, dressed in sleepwear with a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. His television was on in the background. Sam quirked his eyebrows in a question, and then, without a word, he stepped back to allow Steve to enter. 

He'd been in Sam's rooms before, but it now felt awkward to stand there, unsure of what to do with his hands. "I'm sorry. I know it's late, and you have to get up early."

Sam dismissed his apology. "You've never been very good for my beauty sleep regimen, Cap. Why don't you sit? Want anything? Water, coffee?"

Steve shook his head. Sam went to his bathroom for a moment. The news was on, reporting on the continued pockets of unrest in Wakanda and South Africa, the Wakandan leader taking the microphone at a news conference. 

Sam returned, turned the television off, and took a seat near Steve. "What's on your mind? Is Barnes okay?"

"He's okay right now. He's sleeping. I think." Steve creased his brow in thought. They were closing in on a week since Bucky's return. Aside from that first meeting with Stark, things had been relatively calm but some gut instinct was telling him it wasn't going to remain calm for long. Every day since he'd found Bucky again he'd wanted to take Bucky and Sam and beat the hell out of there. He'd have taken Natasha as well if she was willing to come along, but he knew her loyalties were divided.

Sam was looking at him with wry understanding, and Steve's heart nearly burst with gratitude. He couldn't stop himself from gripping Sam's shoulder. "That's good, that he can sleep," said Sam. "Doc said he's pretty much back to normal."

Steve shook his head. He knew Sam was giving vague answers in case of surveillance even in their quarters -- and past experience indicated there almost certainly was -- but Steve didn't care who was listening, nor did he worry about what they might hear. He was growing tired of this shadow dance. 

"Yeah, I guess so. But he's not actually why I'm here," he said, which was, strictly speaking, not exactly true. On some level, everything he did these days could in some manner relate back to Bucky. He'd shown up at Sam's door because he'd been reading Bucky's debriefing transcripts for the last few hours. 

"All right. What do you want to do? Play video games? Chess? Watch a movie? I got that new Melissa McCarthy movie. Should be good for a laugh. Just say the word."

He knew he was smiling stupidly at Sam, and he would have loved to sit with him on his couch and watch mindless amusement on the television, but he knew Sam was tired, despite his willingness to stay up with Steve. "I was hoping," he started, and then felt immensely shy and had to look away, glancing around the room. "I was wondering if I could sleep here tonight?"

Sam took a moment then started laughing quietly. 

It was Steve's turn to quirk his eyebrows at Sam.

"I had at least a half dozen different jokes running through my head about Captain America making a booty call, but then I realized that you actually meant just sleep."

"Oh," said Steve, his ears burning hot. "Well, I think I get the reference. I'm not…" he scratched at the side of his face. "I'm not adverse to anything like that. But yeah, I meant sleep."

"Come on, hero," Sam said, shaking his head with a smile. He took Steve by the hand, leading him to his bedroom. "Sleepover it is."

He was going to offer to sleep on the couch, but Sam handed him a pair of sweat shorts and an undershirt to change into, which he did, stripping out of his clothes, folding them and putting them on a chair. He tugged on the shorts and shirt, which fit him comfortably. 

Sam was pulling down the bedding, but when he saw Steve he stopped. Steve had only ever seen Sam blush once before, during that fateful operation at Club Blue. He'd learned it took a great deal to embarrass Sam Wilson. 

He looked down at himself, but Sam had seen him in much more revealing clothing before. 

"What is it?" he asked.

Sam lowered his eyes. "You look good in my clothes."

Steve was across the room before he even realized he was moving, meeting Sam in a starved kiss. Sam made a noise that sent sparks up Steve's spine and he grunted in answer. 

They fell on the bed. Steve skimmed his hands up the warm bare skin of Sam's back. He attacked Sam's neck, shuddering as Sam pressed a knee into his groin. They parted long enough for shirts to be whipped off, for his shorts and Sam's pajama bottoms to be pushed out of the way. 

On his back, Steve grabbed both cheeks of Sam's ass and thrust up, sucking on his neck. He widened his legs for better access. Sam reached between their bodies to take hold of their cocks. 

Steve was certain he was vibrating, like his shield. He caught Sam in a messy, wet kiss, mouth open and panting. They pressed their foreheads together.

"Sam, I'm--" but he couldn't say the rest of the words before he was coming in hard thrusts.

When he opened his eyes again, Sam was looking down at him. Steve knew Sam hadn't come yet, still working both their cocks, slowly. 

"Gonna make you come again," said Sam, and he started to move like he intended to slip further down.

"No, no," said Steve, keeping Sam where he was, tightening his grip. "No, I want you here with me. Like this again."

Sam's eyes were wide, shining in the darkened room. He gave a shaky nod, raising his hand up to trace Steve's eyebrow and nose, his lips. 

Steve licked at Sam's finger, sucking it in. Sam choked off an incompressible swear, and then took him in a brutal kiss with his finger still in Steve's mouth. Their tongues jockeyed against each other as Sam began to find a rhythm, sliding his cock against Steve through the slick wetness of sweat and come. 

The tension in Sam's body grew, and they were both mouthing words, keening with need. Steve kneaded the two handfuls of Sam's ass, pulling him in closer. Sam lifted up, shifting so that Steve could thrust against his balls. Sam's eyes rolled back and he came, grunting as he fell forward. 

Steve said, "Look at me. Look at me," and Sam lifted his head.

"Come on, baby," said Sam. Steve rose up to kiss him, thrusting quick and hard, and he came again, his face pressed into Sam's neck.

They lay panting until without speaking they got out of bed and took a quick shower together. Steve kissed Sam under the spray of water. They put their sleep clothes back on, and kept them on this time, before collapsing onto the bed. Steve fell instantly asleep with his arm thrown over Sam's waist. 

**

Bucky had woken up in his room, unable to breathe. He'd woken up in terror, his mind blank: silence and nothingness. But his lungs started working, and his memories slammed back into existence. He decided to go find Steve. 

The Winter Soldier slipped into Sam's quarters, moving between shadows. He sat on the chair by the desk, facing the bed. Steve was sleeping on his side, pillow bunched under his head. Bucky only had to wait a few seconds. Steve's breathing changed, but he didn't give away anything by moving. 

Then a soft, "Bucky?"

"Yeah," he answered.

Steve still didn't move, but Bucky saw that he'd opened his eyes and was looking at him. 

"Did anyone see--?"

"The cameras are on a 30 second loop. We have a couple of minutes before the system catches on," said Bucky. 

Bucky watched Steve register different realizations one after the other -- that it was close to six in the morning, that Bucky had infiltrated the security systems, that he knew Steve was in Sam's quarters and not his own, that no one was watching right at that moment.

Steve sat up against the pillows. "Not sure that was good idea. They'll be all riled up now."

Bucky shrugged. "I was wondering," he said, licking his lips. "If I could go running with you and Sam. This is the time you go running, right?"

Steve raised his eyebrows. Sam and Steve hadn't managed to go running together while Bucky had been at Avengers headquarters, but Bucky had already said he knew everything there was to know about Steve Rogers, so he figured Steve was just being slow.

Steve looked a little amused. "Sam has patrol duty. But I'll run with you, Buck."

"Good," said Bucky.

In less than ten minutes they headed outside to the perimeter. Steve was grinning, big and wide. Bucky didn't think the Winter Soldier had ever indulged much in exercise outside of training, but he had memories of the army in 1943, running to marching rhythms. 

"How fast can you run?" asked Steve.

"Don't know," Bucky said.

"Let's find out." 

Steve picked the pace and Bucky matched it. They ran faster and faster until Bucky reached a speed he didn't think he could maintain and they dialed it down by one notch. He guessed Steve could go faster, if he wanted to.

It was still pretty fast, the trees whizzing past, their feet pounding over the terrain. Steve whooped as they leapt over some rocks and a little ditch, yelling at him to keep up. Soon they'd finished one loop and were starting on the second when he heard a growing rustling and felt a gust of sudden wind. 

Falcon swooped down to buzz close to their heads, cackling an evil laugh as he did so. He flew circles around and then settled to keep their pace. Sam held out both his hands and Steve gave him a high five. Sam brushed Bucky with his wing until Bucky did the same thing, then he flew off. 

After Sam disappeared, Steve dropped the pace from breakneck to just plain super fast and they finished the second lap. 

The world felt strange, suddenly still. Bucky saw Steve was actually breathing hard, sweating a little as they walked to the hill above the large flat field reserved for exterior training and aerial exercises. Steve flopped onto the grass and Bucky joined him. It was bright, the sun fully risen on what promised to be a pleasant fall day.

"That was great," said Steve, rolling onto his back, shading his face with an arm over his eyes.

Bucky didn't answer. He wanted this moment to stretch on forever, with the wind and the sun and Steve Rogers. He was conscious of the slipping away of time.

He surveyed the scenery, taking in the building, its position to the road, the line of the perimeter. He spotted Sam landing on the roof, wings folding in, then disappearing inside. Through the glass windows he could see different individuals moving around as the building began its day. A few techs were toiling outside, but seemed disinclined to come near Steve and Bucky.

It reminded him of Hydra -- the activity, the superior knowledge that what they were doing was right, and true, and worthy. It was just the other side. Hydra had believed the same things, twisted though they might have been. Steve made the difference; Bucky believed this. It was in fact the only thing he believed in any more. More than he believed in himself. Bucky would put his money on Steve any day.

The horror of waking came back to him, a kind of pressure in his chest, a narrowing of his vision. He knew that Steve thought these attacks were brought on by trauma, by the memories of torture or of guilt over what Hydra had made him do. That might all be true, but what he was most afraid of, what made him scream in soundless terror when he woke, was the ocean of nothingness that threatened to swallow him up. 

He couldn't bring himself to explain this to Steve. He'd managed to hide it pretty well. Steve lay flat in the grass next to him, limbs loose and relaxed in the sun. 

"Hey, Steve?" he said.

"Yeah?" Steve peeked with one eye from under his arm.

Bucky launched himself at Steve and they rolled on the ground, wrestling. 

"Hey, no fair," squawked Steve, laughing.

He had the upper hand, but Steve was wily and deceptive, lax one second and then flipping him over in the next. They roughhoused, sure in the knowledge that they couldn't really hurt each other, until Bucky suddenly stopped. 

"You okay?" asked Steve.

Bucky shook his head. He was fine but was remembering fighting Steve on the helicarrier. Those memories were the clearest, most unchanging, most unalterable of all. Then he was remembering fighting Steve as children. "Did we play like this when we were kids?"

Steve sighed. "A little. Not like there were a lot of green fields in Brooklyn. If we got into it at one of our apartments, we'd get yelled at. Sometimes we'd go to Prospect."

Steve didn't mention his physical limitations, but then, he wouldn't. Bucky remembered how stubborn Steve had been about his asthma, tetchier than a wet cat. When he wanted to play, by God he would play and no one would tell him otherwise. Little runty mule. 

"Do you miss Brooklyn?" Bucky rose up on one elbow, staring down to the building. He could see Sam through the large glass windows of the observation floor. 

Steve was quiet, then he said, "It's still there."

"You know what I mean."

"I miss a lot of things. Less than I did, though. But I don't dwell on it, Buck."

It wasn't that Bucky wanted to dwell on anything, but memories were slippery things, moving around on him, changing shape. 

"I have an apartment there now," said Steve.

Bucky wanted to say that he knew this already because he knew everything about Steve. "Is it nice?"

"It's not too far from where we grew up." 

"But is it nice, Steve?"

"I think so."

Bucky snorted. Again without warning he jumped bodily on top of Steve. Steve got his legs involved, tossing Bucky over his head. He landed flat on his back with an "Oof." Steve sat on him, crossing Bucky's arms to pin him down. He contemplated just letting Steve sit on him without protest, but then he flexed his metal arm, pressing against Steve actively using his strength and his weight to keep him down.

"Where's that mythical Winter Soldier strength I heard so much about?" teased Steve.

The little punk. Bucky grunted and then, with a sudden give, he slammed Steve back down to lie beside him in the grass.

They caught their breaths. 

Bucky rose up on his right elbow, flexing his metal arm up and down and right and left. The metal was blinding in the sunlight. It felt almost normal and he'd stopped noticing the patched metal, the disfigured star. He shaded his eyes and saw that Sam was still watching from the observation floor and that Romanoff had joined him. 

"Your young man looks worried," he said.

Steve raised his head and squinted at the tiny figures of Sam and Romanoff, a flush spreading up his neck to his cheeks. "He's not my young man."

"Remind me whose bed you slept in last night? What about Romanoff? She your girl, too?"

Steve's eyes widened, glancing at him quickly. "She's not anyone's girl -- at least, she's not mine. Look, it's complicated, all right?"

Bucky bit at his lip but he could only hold it for so long before he started laughing. It was a strange sensation, both for its familiarity (laughing at Steve) and its strangeness (when was the last time he laughed?). 

Steve had a complicated, amused-yet-insulted, eyes-full-of-wonder expression as he furrowed his brow at Bucky. "What is so funny?"

"You are. Of all the things I worried could and would happen to you, getting involved in a love triangle was not one of them. You're what my ma called a 'lothario', aren't you? A regular Don Juan."

Steve was full on blushing now, pink all over. "I think you have me confused with someone else. How many girlfriends did you have? I counted four at one time, once. Besides, I didn't seduce anyone."

"Riiiight," said Bucky.

Steve glared at him. "It was that damn club you sent us to. Although, with Nat…" He fell silent, eyes darkening with memory. He shook his head again. "It's difficult, sometimes, with this team. It gets very personal and intense. Lines get blurry."

"The whole team?" asked Bucky. "If you're telling me you've made it with The Vision--"

"What? No! Jesus. No, just Nat and Sam," said Steve, appalled, and Bucky counted that as at least the third blush so far. He felt quite pleased he could still make Steve turn tomato without really trying. Then Steve groaned, covering his face and head with both arms. "I don't know what I'm doing."

Bucky had a good idea what was bothering him. "This isn't the military. You're not taking advantage of a subordinate who's dependent on you."

Steve removed his arm to study Bucky, eyes piercing. "Like I did with you?"

Well he'd walked right into that one, hadn't he? Anger flared, and he actually punched Steve hard on the shoulder. "Was that what happened?"

"I…" started Steve, then he shook his head, rubbing at his shoulder. "Of course not." Steve waited before saying, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Bucky relaxed. He supposed it was going to come up eventually. He stared out over the grass to the building buzzing with activity, to the tree line in the distance. It was well into morning now. 

He remembered that night -- it had been day though -- it was just that actions were easy to remember but emotions or thoughts or feelings? Those he didn't understand, couldn't always pin down. 

"I… he-- That Bucky Barnes, things were pretty raw for him, those--that last year. He didn't think very highly of himself, but he had a couple things going for him. One, he was a good soldier. He was proud of that. And two, he was Steve Roger's best friend. That meant the world to him. He clung to those things. It kept him going. He said to you that night, he said that it wasn't what he wanted from you. And he meant it. But he was also confused, and terrified. Everything was just… a tangled mess in his head."

Steve let out a breath, then tugged at Bucky until they were lying face-to-face, close enough to cup his cheek, press their foreheads together, an echo of how they had lain decades in the past. 

Insects flittered around, and the grass grew itchy and cool underneath. "Is this you angling to make it a four-way love… rectangle?" asked Bucky.

Steve pinched Bucky's ear and kneed him in the belly, but he was smiling. "Shut up."

Bucky then said, more quietly, "There is a blessing, in being the Winter Soldier."

"What could that be?" asked Steve, curious and disbelieving, but he rubbed a thumb over Bucky's cheek and they pulled back so they could look at each other. 

"After years of… that chair," and he was shivering in the morning sunlight, "and the tank, and everything Hydra made me into, 70 years of not remembering anything, the blood on my hands -- the mixed-up head of a punk kid from 1945 is peanuts in comparison. You worry too much, Steve. I mean, I know the stakes are high. They always are, but… what you feel for your friends, complicated or not, hold on to that."

Steve scrunched his eyes shut, pulling Bucky in for a hug, only letting go when Bucky rolled up to sitting. 

"Stark offered to use Extremis on me," he said, suddenly and without preamble. 

"He what?" yelled Steve, snapping up to a sitting position.

"Calm yourself," said Bucky. "He said he can stabilize it. It'd get rid of the arm, even grow a new one. Which is just really weird to even say."

Steve's eyes were wide and searching his, that deep furrow returning between his eyebrows. "Would you do it?" 

He tugged at the grass and pulled up chunks of it. "Don't know. It's like, hating something so much it could eat you alive but then, if it was gone, what would I hate then? What would I be without it?"

Steve was struggling to speak. "Bucky. There's no… I'd say it's too risky but the truth is if Tony says he can do it he most likely can. But he's been wrong before."

"You don't think I should?"

Steve shook his head. "I'd never say that. But, hey look at me. But, there's nothing wrong with how you are, either way, you know that, right?"

Bucky smiled. "The Vision said the same thing."

"Well he's a really smart man. You should listen to him."

They fell silent, and after a while Steve relaxed and something of the ease from before returned. Bucky saw that Sam and Romanoff were still there, and then poked at Steve. "He really does look worried. You should say something."

Steve waved at them and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Sam!" he called. "Nat! Get your lazy butts out here!"

"You're the epitome of romance, Rogers."

Steve grinned at him.

**

After finishing patrol duty, Sam checked over his suit, cleaned it, and stored it away, then took a quick shower before grabbing some coffee and a tablet and heading to the comfy chairs on the top floor where he'd get a good view of the field outside. He could see that Steve and Barnes were still out there, rolling around in the grass. 

There was something about the energy thrumming through the building, in some of the looks he was getting, that tugged at his gut, made him a little more alert, a little more restless. He took a seat where he could keep one eye on Steve, enjoying the quiet morning while he still could. 

He told himself, very firmly, that his unease had nothing to do with Steve Rogers and James Barnes cavorting like a couple of puppy dogs. He was in no way jealous. Not even a little bit. But he did find it hard to keep his attention on his tablet. 

"Hey, Sam."

Sam looked up to see Natasha walking toward him, and gave her a slow, easy smile. "Hey, sexy mama."

She grinned, and took his hand. "What'cha doing?"

"Cap watching. What else?" 

She laughed. "Always a favorite pastime."

He tugged until she let him pull her into his lap. "Join me."

She settled her weight with her legs crossed over his, and took his coffee, wrinkling her nose at her first sip. She liked her coffee without cream and only one sugar, but she kept sipping it anyway. 

"What are they doing out there?" she asked.

"Wrestling. I think," he said. "They were out there while I was on patrol."

"He, um," she said, nodding in the direction of the wrestling duo. "Barnes, he bypassed security protocols this morning. Broke into your quarters at oh six hundred."

Sam froze and looked at her. "Say what?"

She nodded, then gave him a sly look. "It was after you'd left for duty."

So that was at least partly the reason for the new layer of tension he was getting from everybody. After a week of Barnes not so much as lifting a finger when told not to -- or at least the appearance of not lifting a finger, Sam was beginning to suspect otherwise -- it should have come as a surprise. Truth was, no one had known quite what to expect from Barnes. The fact that he'd chose to break from his routine last night was telling. 

He realized several things at once: one, Barnes knew Steve had spent the night in his quarters; two, Natasha knew Steve had spent the night in his quarters; three, everyone in the building knew Steve had spent the night in his quarters.

"Yeah, well," he said, shifting in his seat.

"I'm not judging," she said, hands up, giving him a smirky eyebrow wiggle and Sam knew he was going to get called out. She pointed a finger at him, pressing it against his cheek.

"Stop that," he said, moving his head to the side, trying to fend her away. "Quit it."

"You love him," she said in a teasing voice. 

"Uhh." He tried to take a sip of his coffee but she kept poking him with her finger. "No, I mean it, quit that."

She inhaled sharply. "You do! You do love him." 

He shook his head. "I don't know… will you just. Here, drink this." She pinched her lips shut and stared at him until he couldn't take it anymore. "All right. Yes, I am completely, like totally, head over heels, hearts in my eyes, cross my heart and hope to die, in love. Happy?"

He expected her to crow with triumph but instead she only smiled and took in a deep breath. "Good," she said. "I'm glad."

He huffed, but then saw how far away her eyes got. "And what about you?" he asked. "You're telling me you don't also love him? Just a little bit?"

Her face made a series of amusing contortions. 

"Come on, Romanoff."

"Maybe," she said. "A little. He's hard not to love."

"Tell me about it." 

"Sometimes, I think about this place," and she waved her hand over her head. "SHIELD, the Avengers, everyone in this building, the Tower as well, Tony Stark. _Especially_ Tony Stark. And I wonder if we do this, if we're here, because we're all just a little bit in love with Steve Rogers."

He looked at her with horror. "That is seriously depressing." Then he thought about it for a few seconds and said, "But yet Steve and Tony fight all the time."

"Eh," she dismissed with a wave of her hand. "Family. They'll figure it out eventually."

He got the distinct impression she was deflecting his attention away from something. Her expression didn't change, no part of her body moved differently than it had in the previous moments. But Sam felt how she was holding her breath even though she was still breathing. 

Sam had never known anyone like her. She contained multitudes. She was terrifying and kind and complex mixed all together, and the last thing he would ever do was take her for granted. He knew there were probably many different, possibly conflicting, layers to her silence, one on top of the other, so he chose the matter that was closest to his heart.

"You know, Steve respects you the most, out of all of us."

She softened almost immediately. "Yeah," she said, and then they both watched Steve and Barnes toss each other around. She burrowed even further into his arms. "Have you told Steve how you feel? Are you going to tell him?" 

"We haven't talked about it, no. I mean, look at him. He's not exactly a free man." At that moment Steve and Barnes were lying close together as if curled up for a nap in the sun. "I'm not either, for that matter. This team, what we do. That's going to come first. It should come first. He's Captain America."

It was almost the same words he'd said to Steve weeks ago. They felt stale in his mouth. 

"That's not all that he is. We don't begin and end as Avengers only."

"I would agree with that. I might even believe it."

"Except," she added, and wove her fingers with his.

"Except," he agreed. 

She squeezed his hand. "Sam," she said, with a completely different tone to her voice. 

He narrowed his eyes. "What is it? What are you not telling me?"

She pursed her lips. "I'm warning you."

Just then, Steve's voice carried over from the field. "Sam! Nat!" Sam and Natasha both snapped their attention to Steve. "Get your lazy butts over here."

Due to the open floor plan of the facility, he could see in the glass reflection Hill addressing a tactical team in full gear, alert and anxious but not in formation. He glanced back at Natasha. She was watching him, waiting to see what he would do. 

"Is this a 'better get my gear' kind of warning or 'I'm gonna get called into the principal's office' warning?"

Natasha didn't answer but she winced a little.

"Right," he said, and he squeezed her hand. "Better go."

**

Steve stood up to wait for Sam and Nat, dusting dirt and bits of greenery off, noticing for the first time that he was covered in grass stains. He looked over at Bucky and saw that he was worse. 

"Let me," he said, turning Bucky around to shake off the grass clinging to his shirt, picking out blades from Bucky's hair.

"Steve?" said Bucky, almost too quiet for Steve to hear.

"Yeah."

"I'd like to go to Brooklyn. I'd like to see your place." They were facing each other.

"Okay," said Steve. "We'll do that."

Steve looked over to where Sam and Nat were striding across the field, and despite Bucky having repeatedly mentioned it, for the first time he registered the actually worried expression on Sam's face. Separate from them, Hill approached with Anders, head of security, and a full tactical team marching across the field. A flare of adrenaline spiked through his stomach.

"What's going on?" he said, under his breath.

"My guess is they've figured out I've been breaking into secure systems all week and are not happy about it. Took them long enough. Had to leave a pretty big clue this morning."

"Bucky," said Steve, and he wasn't sure why he was so honestly shocked. He knew of course that Bucky had bypassed protocols breaking into Sam's quarters, but that was a minor thing in comparison to slipping past firewalls and hacking into the secure network. Besides, Bucky had been under constant surveillance and no one had noticed.

Bucky seemed unconcerned and even gave a little "oopsie did I do that?" type of shrug. "I was looking for intel on Rumlow's whereabouts, and who he might be working for."

Steve bit back a curse, the implication being that Rumlow's escape had been orchestrated. "Did you find anything?"

Before Bucky could answer, Hill and the tactical team came to a stop a few feet away. "Captain Rogers, please step away from Sergeant Barnes."

The adrenaline that had begun flooding Steve's blood stream spiked. He didn't move as the tactical team fanned out. Sam came around and stood on his right side. Natasha was giving him a cautious look. 

"What's this all about?" he asked.

Hill looked her usual cool determination. "We just want to bring him in where it's more secure."

"Steve," said Bucky beside him. 

Steve looked at Bucky, and there was something peaceful and calm in those achingly familiar eyes, hair tousled from their play. Bucky was saying something without words, with just his eyes and the barest hint of a smile, and Steve could almost understand it. 

One of the tac team moved forward and before Steve was even aware of what he was doing, he reacted by blocking and incapacitating him. Two more attacked and Sam took one while he took the other. There was a brief tousle before Hill very loudly ordered everyone to stand down.

The man on the ground groaned, and someone helped him up. 

"Just calm down," said Hill. "There's no need for this."

Steve was about to argue when Nat stepped in. "Where's Barnes?"

He looked over at his side but Bucky wasn't there. He wasn't anywhere. Steve looked at the men, not one of them wearing masks, their faces exposed. Bucky wasn't among them. Everyone stood gaping at each other with comically confused expressions. 

It was almost like he hadn't even been there in the first place, like one of Stark's holograms.

"Does anyone have eyes on Barnes?" Hill spoke into her comm unit. 

The grass was very green under the bright sunlight, no place for a man to hide, the tree line too far away. 

"Ghost story," said Natasha, wry twist to her lips.

Steve took in a breath, feeling a mixture of pride and wonder and sorrow. "He never meant to come in, in the first place." 

"So, what?" said Hill. "He was visiting? That's not acceptable, Rogers. Where is he?"

He shrugged. "Got me."

"We're going to need you to come in, Captain."

An agent took Steve by the arm. "You might want to rethink that," he said, looking from the hand to the agent who blanched with terror.

"Steve," said Hill. "Please."

He shook his head. He admired Hill a great deal and usually had a good working relationship with her, but he'd be damned if he was going to be ordered around by her, or by anyone. Not like this. 

Just then the familiar sound of a quinjet overhead descended, hovering as the hatch door opened and Nick Fury appeared, black coat flapping in the wind. 

"Just what in the hell is going on here?" asked Fury.

Steve sighed, letting go of his fighting stance. Hill's agent stepped back. "Nothing," he said.

"Right," said Fury, giving Hill a one-eyed glare that made her push her lips out in stubborn acceptance. She relaxed, as did the rest of the tactical team. Then Fury turned his eye on Steve, but it held a very different expression than the one he'd been giving a moment before. "Captain." 

Everything in Steve seized up, and he knew even before Fury could say it. "Peggy?"

"I'm afraid so. I'm here to take you to D.C."

Steve nodded, vaguely aware of the quinjet flying off to land properly on the landing zone. Natasha was speaking to Hill, giving orders. If he wanted to, he could have listened to what they were saying, but he didn't. He started walking back to headquarters, turning slightly to see Sam's worried expression. "It's okay, Sam," he said. 

"No, it's not," said Sam. 

Steve stopped walking and only by some stubborn determination did he not bend down to curl up on the ground. It wasn't like he hadn't been expecting it. It shouldn't hurt this much. He looked around to the tree line, to the sky, wondering if Bucky had known this too. 

Twenty minutes later, he and Sam and Natasha flew with Fury back to Washington D.C.

 

**Four days later -- Brooklyn, New York**

The apartment took up the top two floors of a modern six-story building in Vinegar Hill. They approached by night. Steve had a key for the service entrance, slipping in with Sam right behind him. Steve noted the pale chalked O left on the inside of the door. They took the stairs. 

"You're saying no one knows about this place?" asked Sam.

Steve used his key again, letting them into the service area of his floor. "Only you, Barton, and Romanoff. Barton's idea to keep it off the books. Insisted on it. He's the one that arranged the whole thing, actually. He's some kind of real estate guru, if you can believe it."

There was a faint smell of garbage from the chute, the fluorescent light giving a sickly green cast to everything. The door to the vestibule was unlocked. Even though Steve was fairly certain the building was secure, he still listened for anything out of the ordinary before pushing the door open. 

The funeral had taken place that morning. There had been enough chaos immediately after that he and Sam were able to slip away unnoticed, Natasha's rules of going on the run coming in handy.

Steve unlocked the door to the apartment, listening. He'd only been here twice before, once to view it and a second time to let in the deliverymen for the furniture. The building and the apartment were far more modern than what he would have chosen, but he'd ended up agreeing to it largely because it was so different from the Brooklyn he'd known as a kid, yet still more welcoming than the living quarters at either the Tower or the new Avengers' facility. 

The place was dark and full of shadows, but floor-to-ceiling windows at the far end let in enough light from Manhattan glimmering off the East River to see the barrenness of the room, the limited furniture, the blank walls. 

"Home sweet home," he said, shutting the door behind him. He kept the light off as he moved further in, remembering the floor plan. The kitchen was on the left, an office area next it, and there were stairs off the living space leading to the upper level and the bedrooms.

Sam was nodding his head both yes and no. "Could use a little TLC. Decorating not your thing, man?"

"Give me a break. Just bought the place. Been a little busy."

Sam put a hand on Steve's lower back, showing him he was only teasing, before approaching the windows, keeping away from any direct sight lines. He whistled at the view. "Not bad. You certain Barnes knows to come here?"

"I'm not certain of anything. But why don't we ask him?" Steve turned to the sliver of shadow that was the slightest bit darker than the rest.

Sam jumped a little as the shadow peeled away from the wall and Bucky materialized out of thin air. 

"There might be hope for you yet, Rogers," said Bucky. As he came forward, Steve saw that he wore another hooded sweatshirt, Bucky's pale skin contrasting with the cowl of clothing around his neck. 

He was immeasurably relieved to see Bucky, and a good portion of the tension he'd been carrying evaporated. But he was also a little angry. "Did you know about Peggy?"

Bucky's eyes were flat and unreadable in the dark, but he blinked, then lowered his gaze. "You're angry."

Steve let out a gust of air. "No. Yes, I guess."

Bucky looked like he was trying to figure out what to say. "I knew," he said. "I would have stayed longer otherwise."

Suddenly the anger and frustration Steve had been feeling for the past four days vanished, and he found himself wiping tears -- he hadn't cried at the funeral, but here he was, upset and confused and rubbing at his eyes. Of course Bucky would have left. He couldn't have gone to D.C. with them, and it would have been unwise to remain at headquarters without Steve. 

"Wish you could have been there," he said. "But I'm glad you're here now." He sighed, and gestured to the apartment, getting his emotions under control. "So, you knew about the apartment before but were just being coy?"

"I keep telling you, I know everything there is to know about you."

Steve smiled and nodded. "Right." 

"So, what now?" asked Sam, and he came up to Steve's side. "You said Natasha knows about this place? You sure she's not going to let them know?"

Steve let out a breath. "Like I said, I'm not certain about anything. Call it a hunch. I trust her," he added, more quietly.

Only the slightest bit of fabric rustling served as a warning before another shadow detached itself from near the front door. "You're breaking my heart, Steve," said Natasha as she stepped into the light, her red hair as dark as a dried rose.

"Jesus," said Sam, flinching with a hand on his chest. "Y'all gonna make me prematurely gray, I hope you know that. What, were the two of you both waiting in the dark together, all creepy and silent?"

Steve had also jumped a little, but he'd noticed that Bucky hadn't moved at all. 

"I followed you and Rogers in," said Natasha with an amused crossing of her arms. "Give me some credit. And no, no one else is on your tail. I, at least, know how to do my job."

They stood in a loose circle staring at each other, until Natasha reached for Steve. She kissed his cheek.

"Nat," said Steve, letting her go. "Not that I'm complaining, but should you be here?"

"Relax, I'm not staying. I just came to give you this while we're out from under surveillance. Figure it's safer with you, for now." She held out her hand, palm open, the drive with Zola's algorithm in the center.

It was a shock to see the drive, remembering all the trouble it caused. "You didn't hand it over to the CIA?" he asked.

With a wrinkle of her nose, she shook her head. "Should I have?"

"It should have been destroyed."

"You're right. And I wasn't certain that's what would have happened if I'd handed it over. Things were a mess. They still are."

Steve breathed through his nose. "You didn't destroy it yourself?"

She made another face. "Didn't think that was my call. There was a lot going on at the time. I kept it safe. And now, I'm handing it over to you."

She didn't say that he'd been preoccupied searching for Bucky, but he knew that was at least one of the reasons she hadn't come to him with the drive. He was now remembering her visit to him in the hospital, and how he thought she'd been hiding something. It was in her nature to observe and keep her options open, to see which way the cards fell. It wasn't how he operated, but he couldn't fault her for it. 

With the future uncertain, and the light from Manhattan casting a ghostly pallor over all four, Steve reached to take the drive. 

"I guess this is it," he said, looking around at his team, these three who meant more to him than anyone else. He couldn't protect them, as much as he would die trying. He won't be able to keep them. But in this moment they were all together and it meant more to him than he could ever put into words. His heart beat strong in his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [tumblr](http://hafital.tumblr.com/), where I mostly reblog things that make me laugh. 
> 
> All comments greatly welcomed and cherished. Please [reblog](http://hafital.tumblr.com/post/129157957495/pas-de-quatre-hafital-captain-america) if you're so inclined. Thank you for reading!


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